Spanish Moss

Deep, buried deep down, dark, dank, ground
musty leaves and Spanish moss hanging ‘round,
a treasured chest, buried alone, call it home,
buried deep down, where thoughts ne’er roam.

Within cavernous wood and green ironed lock
lie undisturbed pink silk of young girl’s frock,
amidst linen doll, ball of yarn, a lonesome key;
lies deep, dark, dank, the hidden heart of thee.

With the razing of the land, hands uncover
treasured chest, left alone after loss of lover;
discounted, forgotten moments unburied now
come again to grips with sunlight’s vow.

For sunlight saw forbidden love high above,
tears fallen, curses rambled, treasured chest shoved
deep, buried deep down, dark, dank, ground
musty leaves and Spanish moss hanging ‘round.

Perhaps a hundred or more years ago
a lover loved, lost, despaired so;
then treasured chest carried there
once buried deep, dark, bereft of air;

…with only Spanish moss to mourn.

17 January, 2000
©KRJ