There’s nothing so sombre
As a Graveyard in Winter
The silence uncovered
By snow.

The tombs that jut out
Through the dusty white clouds
Make you wonder — what lies

There’s nothing to scare
Yet in truth no soul dares
To look at the statues
In woe.

The eerie dark form
Of a wife long forlorn
Is frozen to copper
Or stone.

Her lost mournful eyes
Her green rusty guise
With rain marks that fell
Long ago.

There’s nothing so Silent
As the White Snowy Winter
In a Graveyard it’s even
More true.

Even the dead
Have long ago left
Their spirits here linger
No more.

The sound of my feet
Their scrape on concrete
Are soaked up by white
Frozen sleet.

No voices no laughter
No cars and no banter
The outside world muted
By cold.

There’s nothing so somber
As a Graveyard in Winter
In the Whiteness, there’s barely
A soul.

Yet here I stand
With pencil in hand
Writing odes on the dead
In the snow.



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