Whispers float around.
Yet the graveyard is devoid
Of any human sound.
Wind rustles through the trees;
You could almost imagine
That the dead are breathing.
And the whispers attract
To human ears,
To those who walk on by,
Without a care;
And the living
Think that peace lives here,
That the dead still exist
In this burial ground;
But how wrong are they,
Because every soul is gone,
And all that remains
Is the corpse.
YOU ARE READING
Graveyard Tales
Poetry"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them." ~George Eliot
