The Grave

THE GRAVE

In the clouded, dusky afternoon

As you hear the clang of a swaying bell

The rising ring of its dreadful knell

Ascends to the dreary, lifeless moon.

As cryptic winds through dead boughs pass

Below one tombstone's familiar name

Another soul the demons claim

Beneath grim reeds and yellow grass.

And when dawn arrives with miasmic dew

Upon the wanton meadow and its horrid grave

A being there moans, too late to save -

None other than the likes of you! 

John Lars Zwerenz