The Graveyard

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I visited an old grave yard,

Weathered markers and stones,

Yon stood an old oak tree,

Submitted: March 24, 2007

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Submitted: March 24, 2007

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I visited an old grave yard,

Weathered markers and stones,

Yon stood an old oak tree,

Knarled, scarred and alone,

A place of ghosts and lost souls.

Tucked on the side of a mountain,

Back on the side of a knoll.

I read a date, Born 1874.

Died 1906,

Got throwed off his mule,

Then the mule kicked.

This brought a smile,

Not at the person’s demise.

But I could picture the scene,

Don’t ask me why.

A drunken old hillbilly,

An onery old mule.

On the side of a mountain,

The man had been a fool.

Another marker caught my eye,

This one just a child,

This was a tale of a rabid dog,

And the day he turned wild.

I continued to search the names,

In my mind, file the dates.

There, a man was buried,

Not long after, his mate.

There was a soldier,

Dated back in 1865,

And not far over,

The man’s grandson,

And the date he died.

I closed the journal I carried,

Crossed to an old wrot iron gate,

I knew I must be on,

I thought I began to hate.

I stepped through the opening,

A gentle wind sprung in the pines,

The wind seemed to carry voices,

That said, " come back to visit,

We’re here most of the time."


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