In the light of the day
there are no numbers
the moss hides the shadow
across the silver laden stones
Searching as the sun streams
alighting lines across the way
flitters dust like fairies
in the shadows of the graves
Brushing away the florets
of the silver tinged moss
lies the Beloved Mother
whose place is no longer lost
Closing away the mystery
of a namesakes pictural
beloved Great-great grandmother
no longer a forgotten marker
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Author:
Memoirs of a mad life (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 5th, 2020 17:32
- Comment from author about the poem: My mother and I sat out on a journey recently to find the grave of my Great-great grandmother. We were able to find her in a somewhat neglected old cemetery along on old country road. It was morning and the sun was just clearing away the dew, when we were able to find her headstone and clean it carefully to reveal her name and the words ''Beloved Mother' appeared across the bottom. My mother who is 81, cried as she shared memories of the woman whose name I carry. We placed flowers there and I plan to return as often as possible. I jotted this poem down when I returned that same day.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments3
Beautifully emotive write. In the past few years I've transformed into a highly sentimental genealogy buff, and often feel as though I am
"Brushing away the florets
of the silver tinged moss"
with each discovery.
Enjoyed!
Heather
Thank you so much. I am very much into geneology too. Good luck in your adventures!
We all are but connected with death 🌹 beautiful write 👍
Thank you!
She will now be with you forever.
Thank you!
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