Graveyard Gathering

November 30, 2008
I walk through the graveyard,
through the hovering mist.
The tree branches curled,
the wind gives a hiss.

The tombstones are damp,
with the early morning dew.
Making some look old,
and others new.

The outlines of people,
walk through the damp grass.
They have come to see,
the young one that's passed.

I see her drift,
over the crowd that moans.
They start to leave,
and away she goes.

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