Graveside 28 Thursday Feb 2013 Posted by Ronald E. Shields in poems ≈ 2 Comments Men with shovels break gray clods into dust. A woman with beaded fingers asks again the question on her mourner’s lips. With porcelain ears she waits for an echo through parting clouds. Share this:FacebookTwitterPrintEmailMorePinterestLinkedInRedditTumblrPocketLike this:Like Loading...
I am leaving a comment. Sometimes comments are what we think we ought to write instead of what we actually have in mind. I am not telling you which this is. lol
I see the dreary graveyard. The woman with her rosary beads questioning a god about the why of it all. She thinks she is going to find the answer of it all from some ethereal mystical being. None comes. 😦
Cremate me, sing joyous songs and toast my life with laughter. 🙂
Ronald E. Shields said:
Whichever type it is your comment is one I heartily agree with.