Walking in the Sebastopol Cemetery - Dian Hardy

[Larry Robinson]


Walking in the Sebastopol Cemetery

I wanted to walk, washing my face in the morning dew and thus

entered the burying ground, the cemetery, that place of

remembrance, 

Where the birds sing only sad songs.

Where the small pink flowers lift wan faces from the 

heavy-eyed lawns.

Twenty football fields of acid green grass and banks of

backroads and their dry grasses,

and trees like nursery rhymes gone wrong and my favorites,

the oldest graves,

toppling, mossed, in their recondite leafiness,

And beneath all this, the dead,

facing the morning sun in perpetually bequeathed hopes.


	- Dian Hardy
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