In the old churchyard near the stone wall
even the yew tree's roots won't grow at all
there the hungry earth worms won't crawl,

Where there's a corpse that never shall rot
and brambles' sharp barbs avoid this spot
whilst bumblebees drop from air too hot,

The grey stone is too worn to say the name
weeds encroach on the space time and again
as stinging nettles thrive causing much pain,

Acidic soil leaches its taint to kill all but flies
and any crow that comes too near surely dies
here an eerie mist stretches, tired in surprise,

Beetles scurry away for a bad feeling they get
moss grows in abundance slimy, dark and wet
things happen here ominously hard to forget,

This is the place a body lays contaminated here
where all good thought will lose happy cheer
and a poison seeps down, worse year on year,

They say dark deeds still haunt close at night
that even the moonbeams can't bring it light
falling weak like Autumn leaves, a sorry sight,

Yet in a tiny vase sits such pretty wild flowers
an indentation where someone wept for hours
never abandoning love, its rejuvenating powers.




© .Garry Saunders