Barefoot in the graveyard pulling weeds and whitewash stone placing crystal pebbles and planting seeds of hope in the dirt-- moss hanging from the giant oak cool breezes and iris wild, braiding flowers and arms spread shouting to a dark bayou tribute to forgotten dead-- remembering ourselves-- forgetting our regret.
[This message has been edited by serenity (edited 07-12-2000).]
thank you all--and ellie--bayou (Barataria?) I think...in Lafitte...a family cemetary on the Fleming Plantation, it boasts an "indian mound"...a very hauntingly beautiful place...is poetry, all by itself...
holy smokes each one i read is cooler than the one before i am so into your style of poetry dont know the name for the form you use but its really cool im looking for more of you while im here peace lil sis
Backwaters of Avalon
serenity, this piece is amazing... I often wander old grave yards when I visit the east coast, looking for distant relatives wondering what they were like. We should celebrate our distant families, for we owe them much.