By Sarah Cline, Grade 7
Open the gate, once shiny and black,
Now twisted and brown with rust.
Open the gate, your fait to await,
But open it just if you must.
Now creep through the entrance, go in a slow way,
So not to disturb those who quietly lay.
See the old tree, with a bench by it’s roots,
The bench swinging gently, the tree slightly bent,
See the old church, now abandoned by all,
Lonely and homely as it stands grey and small.
See the dirt pathway, now covered with weeds,
It softens the trod of the few that approach.
See all the names of the people once breathing,
A small prayer by their dates, names, and deeds.
This is the song of the graveyard,
quiet and old, yet it feels quite a live.
The song of the ones that lay here alone,
Somber and still as they lay under stone.
Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 462 - For today’s prompt, write a set poem. Collectors often try to complete the set, though some break up the set. Some people set the record straight. Some t...