Grave mound

Grave mound

 

An oak will grow out of me.

It will sprout from my eyesight

And start the way up through the canopy

It will overhang the mound and make a shade

The beam of the sun's rays through the cloud and canopy will sink to me

And spilled on the damp moss

I'll be there and I will not exist anymore

In remembrance, it will be mentioned sometimes that I once existed

Moody and rigid

Angry at a world not made for quitters

In late autumn, field mice will revive me

playing hide and seek in a pile of leaves

I will finally shut up and no one will ask me why

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