In The Field of Time We Lie

Sweet scents drift across

The ancient grave.

Long forgotten,

Its crumbling headstone

Casts a weak shadow on the overgrown field.

Empty now, but in a couple of months –

Cows will be munching

On the green strands of grass,

And finishing off lunch with dandelion weeds.

Whoever was there once,

Lying still under the earth,

Is gone now,

Their memory obliterated by time

And carelessness

Like the jasmine vine

That used to grow.

The sweet scent of the generations past

Drifts across the grave

And wafts away.

The gravestone crumbles a little more.


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