Writ at the age of seventeen, after a walk in the Boston Public Gardens graveyard.

*****

Recorded Reading (1:22): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/5elha5v9tipsz6klq6z9f/Graveyard-Ramble.mp3?rlkey=ehul9w9ljgg7zxu9ftqussy14&dl=0

*****

Graveyard Ramble

I contemplate my dripping hat
Preparing tale to tell
Of dampened exploration
In rainy autumn dell
‘Round twisted, sagging gravestones, which
Chipped and worn as time could make
Still said their stories well

How many generations
These tablets strolled among?
How many left behind a tear
And windy wisp of dol’rous song
For all the women lying here
Who left this world too young
Whilst birthing infant pioneers
Of flailing fist and lusty lung?

Did they to one another
As these poemed stones imply?
‘Tis an important question
And I will say thee why:
If indeed they did know love
And kept each dear one always by
Then every task seemed lightest play
And they grudged not the time gone by

To such men ’twere but nature’s way
That what is born must die

*****

This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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