To Rosemary
We met one Sunday afternoon,
When all was silent, still as death,
Two spirits left alone to roam
A world that passed us by and seemed
To lead us far away from home
With every weary day and restless night.
Beneath the shade of ancient oaks,
We found each other...and some peace
Outside of time, if only for a while,
While all around the memories of lives
Gone by took on the forms of birds
And spread their wings to fly and sing.
And though the tombstones seemed to speak
Of loss, and absence, and the promised end
Of every joy that can be lived and held
For briefest moments, like a passing breeze,
Within the silence one could slightly hear
A murmuring of leaves, and breeze, and stone.
At last we reached a place upon the grass
Between those old and dirty monuments,
So worn and dulled by stubborn time,
Our journeys here too long and strange
To tell within a lifetime, though much more
Remained for each to walk, now hand in hand.
And as the hours stopped to watch us sit
Upon the grass, with life that buried death,
Our lonely spirits found some peace
That healed the wounds and many scars
Received upon the paths that led us here,
Now walking into life, with hand in hand.
Image credit: Basher Eyre, from Wikimedia Commons, under a Creative Commons License.
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