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Photo by Jill Dimond on Unsplash

I often walk here just to clear my mind.
Who knows what secrets or sweet words I’ll find?
I often walk when I’m all alone
with these old gravestones and their old gray bones.

These grassy rows, I know them very well.
I walk them blind and even know their smell.
In this valley deep, the sun’s never shone
on these old gravestones with their old gray bones.

Judy Wise died in 1884,
lost all three babies in the Civil War.
She joined them here so not to be alone
with their old gravestones and their old gray bones.

There on yonder hill lies my Uncle Sam,
a convincing liar just like I am.
They buried him with everything he owned,
just an old gravestone and his old gray bones.

To this old graveyard I come quite often,
among these stones where they’ll lay my coffin.
One day I’ll return this body on loan;
an old gravestone will mark my old gray bones.

Originally published in The Topic Journal in 2018

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