Life in the Hole

No grass grew on those mounds.
They had been there for a decade
Staunchly standing guard to the grounds
That surrounded the dying hole they made.
 
Left there, they taunted birds and flower,
Where no light could find you
And no seed could spring to form your bower
Or cultivate your residue.
 
You were bare, if it had not been for wood.
Did they let you wear your dress of red?
I’d have put it on you if I thought I could,
To stay death’s rotting, stripping stead.
 
Then after years of endless night
There came two shadows to sway the turf.
They lashed clean soil together – tight –
As they patted down your solemn scurf.
 
No one ever heard them say
Where the mounds where taken to.
But I know where they make their stay;
I sacrificed my light for you.
 
I took the hole to give you life –
In the hope that it would set you free –
Yet all it brought to me was strife
And the lonely clutch of memory.
 
I live my days inside your grave.
There is never warmth or light from sun.
Is there someone now to try and save
Me from darkness when the digging’s done?