Poem -
The churchyard
On an early autumn dawn
fog curled around the cold tombstones
a raven flew to its perch
and watched
the gravediggers dig.
The old village churchyard
echoed its silence
standing guard
over those in a
eternal sleep.
Tall majestic trees
lined the pathways
their branches bowed
in respect to the deceased
leaves waving goodbye.
The churchyard
keeper of ones lost
keeper of memories
and stories still told
of heroes from yesterday.
Mausoleum walls faded
names on a tombstone
fading with time
ancient dates long past
no one left to bear witness.
The churchyard
our last place of rest
where the spirits
of the dead
linger, to watch over us.
Β© Alan Noakes
Support CosmoFunnel.com
You can help support the upkeep of CosmoFunnel.com via PayPal.
Comments
Lovely verse
You have very much captured the timeless peace and mystery of a churchyard cemetery Alan...regardless of personal belief...there is something otherworldly about them, an atmosphere that is difficult to put into words but you have excelled here x
Thank you for this delightful and positive response, such places always held or sparked the imagination, not in a halloween sense, but of the people and their place in historyΒ