The Cemetery
We want to tell ourselves
that nothing has changed.
That his death
has been neatly arranged.
Intact...
encased in
a concrete burial vault
and he will sleep
under what he must of loved most--
a well-manicured
suburban lawn.
We will make sure
the land will not change
the wild brook
where the children play
the sounds of wafting
blue grass music
will be fenced off
so far away...
secure in the knowledge
that his dust is encased,
and will never ride
on a carpet of scented wind
from this forsaken place.
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This is a thoughtful work, Doug. Enjoyed reading.
Elizabeth
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