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Created on: July 11, 2009 Last Updated: July 30, 2009
Freshly turned, crumbling sod,
now marks this solemn spot.
Sodden soil, an open wound,
that only time, can soothe.
Muddy footprints, by his deathly side,
sunk as deep, as they are wide.
Standing in the sodden grass,
dressed in black, they bade their last.
Duvet of flowers, a scented heap,
covers a soul, in endless sleep.
Stooping low, they laid them down,
heads bowed low, and not a sound.
And in the evening, came the rain,
to soak the earth, and hide the pain.
Quiet and alone, a life now done,
While all around, it still goes on.
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Poetry: Dying
The Song Without a Sound
Last night I woke up from a dream
And watched the Moonlight softly stream
In, streaks of silver silence
by Colin Ward
Freshly turned, crumbling sod,
now marks this solemn spot.
Sodden soil, an open wound,
that only time, can soothe.
Muddy footprints,
Nothing says fear like the maw of the unknown,
an end to all things that have lived and have grown.
Looming in the shadows
Dying
Looking into the eyes of death
really does make you think
How life passes with a blink
I try not to fear
for I know
by Mary Guimont
This is poem is dedicated to my sister Pamela Jane Guimont. Who passed away on March 22. 2010.
Dear Pammy,
I went
View All Articles on: Poetry: Dying
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