Issue 67 — November, 2009
Water of life
An ancient graveyard – 1864 or thereabouts –
here lies an overflow of those then lost to cholera;
some local notables, though most lying here unnamed.
From this high window one evening I saw a family
hacking out weeds, tending the grass,
and I’ve seen folk on a bench eating their lunch.
One of these days I must join them, explore,
read the stones where the wording remains.
You could be in the countryside, trees in full leaf,
yet you’re only ten minutes’ walk from the town...
If there were but a stream maybe chattering by
as it is I feel too tired to do more than gaze down.