a dearth in the hearth
this Christmas
more dirt in burial
filled in by stranger hands
these lessons begin
bringing fruition
the idea of man
mortality on billboards
sorrow hung on clothes’ line
out back we sing low
dirt tossed over solemn vow
one day trodden down
howl, will you cold wind
baying wolf at moonrise
obsequy for prey fallen
interment, hallowed sound
soil turned over night
rich smells of fallen so visceral
dig deeper when they make my bed, love
I fear I may not make my own funeral, love
just bury what you need to say
take your leave, still be I dead
no longer, no further
we pray.
image courtesy of Pinterest
sorrow hung on clothes’ line – hung me out to dry with that line…
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thanks Eric, winter always makes me a bit melancholy
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Excellent visuals, D ❤
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Thank you Em🙏🖤
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