(written March 2023)
Usplash Image by Annie Spratt
The burial ground makes no sound.
But it hears the echoes of tears we weep.
In the earth, underground, the dead sleep.
We place flowers on their headstone to atone for past regrets.
Then we light a cigarette and try to forget
they are no longer here to lend a willing ear to our pain.
It begins to rain.
At the burial ground, things never change.
Yet for those left behind, things can never be the same.
Copyright © 2023 Maggie Watson
All rights reserved
In the Shadow of my Pen 
A lovely blending of sad truth and beauty…💜
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Thank you so much 💙💙
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My pleasure. 💜
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