Disappearing past

Ilana Reimer photo

There are few feet left to tread this way –

Just a handful of wanderers who wear down the path;

The tangled weeds are thick with fallen leaves,

And the long grass is dewy between crumbling headstones;

This place is ever filled with mysterious light –

It is an old, old graveyard; so old it basks in years of memories,

Memories near forgotten, by all save this precious place,

Hemmed in by mighty walls of maple and oak; crimson leaves that shield from prying eyes.

There is no sombreness of death here, only the unmistakable phantom of a past

That disappears year by year, buried deep beneath moss and eroding stone.

~ Ilana Reimer

Ilana Reimer photo

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