graveyard

the fronded chestnut tree
rears over long grass
shadows flit and whisper
of what is and what is past
and in the field of souls
my grandfather rests at last

i will be seeing him still
some time the city crowds upon me
he'll raise a walking stick to a thistle
call his dog to heels
cry glory and whistle
whistle down the years

can you feel the softness
of the mist upon your face
or sense the shadows brooding
when the twilight whispers peace
then know that ancient mysteries
lie hidden in the trees