Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2017
I was in the cemetery again, this noon
Dandelion graves and lost stones
Dwelling atop a hidden hill
Deep within the pines
Not my cemetery
Not ancient
I laid
Upon a certain grave
It had my name
One of only two stones with
Still visible words
Unwashed by
She was only 17, passing
Married, buried
With child
A long lost to time
Child bride
Of the
For her to be in that particular cemetery
She had to be a soldiers wife
Confederate, rebel
I mourned her
The stone residing next to hers
was worn by wind and time
A dandelion grave
Cemeteries are a morbid habit of mine. The particular cemetary I speak of here, is called Boot Hill. A civil war cemetery. Amanda's grave was one of very few female graves I've found in war graveyards. Her stone said,"With her child." And indeed, as early as it is in this season, that cemetery was covered with dandelions.
Written by
Gidgette  UnReality
Please log in to view and add comments on poems