hers was a simple burial
no prayers, no witnesses
just a body laid to rest years before
now a decayed pine box
topped with a broken tombstone
reads something like Mary Pr….
can’t read the rest
crumbling in the dirt
overgrown with vines
unkept and neglected
the decayed corpse below me
appears to reach out
wanting to speak
in need of recognition
I call out to her, this Mary Pr…
in my mind’s eye a lovely woman
crowned in red roses
seems to seep through the years
and reach up through the dirt
beautiful in her decay
before fading from my consciousness
I call her Mary Primrose
knowing this is how she must look
across the veil
where the dead go for eternity
and as the vision wanes
i catch a quick smile
as she returns to her resting place
awaiting the next visitor
that may never come again