The Cemetery
Poem
by Erin Bennett
The smell of death
Alive and fresh.
The sound of people
By the steeple.
The taste of air
Warm and fair.
The feel of pain
Against your cage.
The sight of stone
Sets the tone.
The smell of death
Alive and fresh.
Never here alone.
The feel of soil
Cold and deep.
The crows who never sing
Nor sleep.
Even the grass is dead.
Coffin open, showing the head.
The sight of leaves
Tossed and teased.
The feel of wind
Cold with sin.
The taste of death
Alive and fresh.
On a dark warm day.
The Cemetery© COPYRIGHT 2005 Erin Bennett. Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author. 06/25/05
