Black plumes curl above the land
Rocks and stones lay jagged
Ash is the only thing in the air
The mountain has subsided
Years pass, and the earth, once dead,
Gives life to budding greenery again
Coarse hands dig with dusty shovels
Into now rocky and rusted soil
Unearthing things from long ago
Like broken pots, toys, and even bones
Now they sit upon stands of wood
Behind a sheet of glass
Silent they stare out at clean floors
As adults and children pass
YOU ARE READING
Erinn's Collection of Poetry
PoetryPoems that float around in my head that are lucky enough to be written down.
