In the confines of the house's backyard
there are no marked graves at all to see
but an attempt will be made by this bard
to relate according to personal memory
of some creatures buried therein to be.

Over the course of many years gone by
various creatures have been laid to rest
in the soil of the yard's ground to comply
with an improvised simple funeral blest
by a short little prayer to end their quest.

There were a couple of cats it is recalled
one of them was within the property born
though with the other memory has stalled
which is not surprising and hardly forlorn
to blame or point at with a finger of scorn.

Then there were also a few local birds
mainly sparrows that were regularly fed
which flew all around and dropped turds
being a little distressing to find any dead
some due to after eating crumbs of bread.

They were preyed upon by neighbors' cats
and left for dead when they were disturbed
in their instinctual appetite that included rats
when by humankind were scared and curbed
due to their wild nature's feast so perturbed.

Then on occasion also mice would run free
which were seen coming through the fence
and when at times chased scurried up a tree
where they would hurry to get away thence
a similar burial applied if found dead hence.

It'd be so incomplete here not to mention
all those spiders and insects that had died
in some way or other due to a pretension
that their annoying habitual nature implied
to be poisoned or squashed in their stride.

They have all been buried in the backyard
in various places there that are not marked
laid to rest in the ground either soft or hard
under where others had roamed and barked
in the distant past after they were all carked.
____

When I share two or three days of the week to compose poetry I find myself on the
exam session when severe merciless teachers ask us to write about “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard!”
Elegies mostly are unprepared and never find time to turn to the appropriate types!
They ask me on and on...and I ask them in the consulting area that how can we turn my blossomy song to elegies unwritten about the parish of those people, long time ago had been lost exactly on the exam time?
How could you expect me to turn my naïve feeling to one of the catastrophic ones?
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time is over
time is up
time is running
time flies
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Teachers shout, “ HURRY UP” when will they shut up?
  I usually haunt by the bundle of words and circled with tumults of ideas as shining and variable as stars that like the savage river rush out to make me drowned. Very rarely I could find a way to breathe out. Elegies swirling randomly again and again to pose the question about whom shall we very soon defined, Mum?  
>...O darlings...<
…motionless corpse, wandering ghost, dead people around,
>.. not stars..<
>...O… no..<  
Is there anybody nowadays to think about the “Country Churchyard” and elegies very appropriate to them at all, what a destiny! what a force! while a long time ago they were bestowed to the grand history of all mankind.
O…no…
Poor elegies remain unborn and sad in my thought…not forever…
they laugh…and laugh…I can hear them, time is over and I’m a failure.
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The blank sheet is going to be filled by songs wearing the long red robe of emotional loves or lust…they are tired of black mourning cloth of demise!
they laugh
and
laugh and
laugh
since
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I 'm a murderer…tapping with dirk ….or strangling with a heavy rope of my heart….bloodshed everywhere: drops from my fingers to the height.  shout, scream and cry, they were innocent,  don' t want to die.  I can hear them.
>
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They are killed not to stay further in a cemetery of churchyard but to be born with a new style, either failure or corrupt…