The Old Burying Ground

The old cemetery had a life of its own,
Each stone telling a story.

Many stories of life beneath us,
Our ancestors in all their glory.

Each stone and marker a tribute to one,
A father, a mother, a daughter and a son,

A war casualty, a sickness that is now obscure,
Claimed them all when they were quite young.

Moss and worn slate is all that remains,
But memories die hard and legends abound,

For as I walk this hallowed ground,
It is my ancestors that I have found.

Though I did not know them in this life,
I feel that kindred spirit still.

For some day perhaps I will see them beyond,
And my descendants will be walking this hill.

The old cemetery had a life of its own,
Each stone telling a story¬Ö..

 

Todays best new poem was written by James W. Spain.

 
 

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