Pale sea green moss hangs rustling in the wind along the trees arching branches

A simple eerie tombstone disrupts the path of the on goers walking by the tall black fences
As the oyster shell walk ways slither through the looming field like a stone

Cloud engulf the sky in a fuzzy haze like smoke
The wind rustles the dark brown leaves as if running away from something unseen
Could the soldiers of the past possibly still be around?

The giggles of friends masked by the occasional howling win creating a blue of noise
Crunching of leaves underneath peoples feet dodging the foot stones of the mysterious graves as we hop along
Scolding teachers are heard above everyone else as we are told to keep moving towards the creepy guide

The atmosphere overwhelms me as I stand in remembrance of the people buried only feet beneath me as cool air sends a chill down my spine
How many graves are really here? Could there even be more than we think?

The past
The past
The past