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Graveyard Ramble

I contemplate my dripping hat
Preparing tale to tell
Of dampened exploration
In rainy autumn dell
‘Round twisted, sagging gravestones, which
Chipped and worn as time could make
Still said their stories well

How many generations
These tablets strolled among?
How many left behind a tear
And windy wisp of dol’rous song
For all the women lying here
Who left this world too young
Whilst birthing infant pioneers
Of flailing fist and lusty lung?

Did they to one another
As these poemed stones imply?
‘Tis an important question
And I will say thee why:
If indeed they did know love
And kept each dear one always by
Then every task seemed lightest play
And they grudged not the time gone by

To such men ’twere but nature’s way
That what is born must die

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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