I followed the leaf-strewn path once more Where it hugged the cemetery wall, And made my way through the sandstone gap Where the howl of the wind was stalled, While snow still covered the sacred ground And piled by each headstone lay, Obscured the lettering, so profound Of a love, now taken away.
And some of the headstones, cracked and worn Cried out in their pure neglect, Where were the ones their love had sworn Who’d never visited yet? But then a headstone, polished and new With a name fresh cut in the stone, I knelt in awe as my wonder grew That beauty returned to bone.
My tears were frozen on either cheek, The frost on my forehead lay, If she could see from her reverie She’d see that my face was grey, But nothing stirred on that tiny mound That covered her form below, The wind that howled was the only sound And I thought it told me to go.
‘Get up and leave, you can only grieve In this garden of dead desire, Love in this place may only deceive It’s as dead as the ash in a fire.’ Sadly I placed the poem I wrote For the girl, in case she’d need it, Under a rock by the headstone there In the hopes that Death might read it.