Kinsley Lee

At the National Cemetery

Early spring day the sun is going

To set at the western mountain ridges

And the tombstones are lining up and greyly shining

On the sky a bird is whirling with his remiges.

 

Far away, beside the entrance

Gate, the many flags are waving

On the flagpoles and the statues are erected for remembrance.

A short day, slowly the darkness is drawing.

 

On the big tree, a crow make sounds, caw and caw

As if he try to appeal to the live.

On the shaking bough, he’s grasping tightly by his paw.

And the otherworld not long, he warns to the live.

 

The artificial flowers are picked by the tombstones,

On the yellow lawn, the more they’re splendid

The more they’re looked lonely, on this divine zones,

But the Congress’s strife for the profit is not ended.