One, two, three... as the numbers flow
A little lass; eight, nine, ten... runs frantically
Searching for a hidden spot – relief from exhaus’.
Into the gray yard her dainty legs carried her
Where the fir and birch and pine lined the walls
And in the clearing stood bravely, the slabs and the cross’.
Can a better place ever be found?
I wonder... no wonder
The searching eyes searched for a hollow tree
A bush or thick heather and rested
Upon that fresh mound barely six feet
And couldn’t move, it didn’t want to be free.
The earth smelt fresh, the air aromatic
There was a serene silence and eeriness
Draining away, the staleness of life
This world is too exiguous, this yard’s room enough
Too good, from the brutish erudite world
And this brusque life with its customary strife.
I wouldn’t want an inch more
Than the measured space granted to me
I’d be glad enough in my wooden home
It’s so enchanting to feel this loving calm
Liberty – from the labour, this world of fantasy
Peacefully lying in a burying tomb.
“Amy! Where art thou? It’s getting dark.”
What’s it that calls me back?
This name that doth follow you everywhere
This existence that’s reality
And I know I should live my life and suffer
Entangled in this worldly snare.
Until one day when I’ll be carried to this paradise
From where I am being taken away
Where I wish to stand and stay
And I’ll be nothing but soil again
Forgotten with my rotten bones
As in this yard, in a grave, I’ll lie.
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