A mellow Sunday toward the end of March,
afternoon walk through Mount Pleasant Cemetery:
cheerful faces of gregarious strangers
amid the stiff and vigilant headstones.
In a high pine beside the graveyard chapel,
rumour has it there's an eagle nesting:
the sixtyish pair in masks and polo shirts
says it's a must-see, its wings "gigantic."
Today I have coaxed myself out of claustration
and stepped with aching feet into the wee
pocket of green our bustling suburb keeps
crowded with the slabbed and silent dead—
and several walkers, joggers, kids on bikes
alive to celebrate this bright spring day.
Poetry by Thomas D
Read 37 times
Written on 2021-03-22 at 06:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)