Dirge in Woods
A wind sways the pines,
And below
Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On the flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine-tree drops its dead;
They are quiet, as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead
Rushes life in a race,
As the clouds the clouds chase;
And we go,
And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
Even we,
Even so.
Thank you for sharing. Beautiful poem and picture.
A man that is terribly missed. Beautiful words you posted to accompany this image.
Cemeteries fascinate me too, but I have never come across one where they had the mans tools there!
Perhaps I should make my request for a camera 😉
Great find!