The gravel goads me as I walk…
Do you not hear me, do you not see me
Do you not feel me under foot?
Do you not, talk …Speak! Why sir you are ruder
Than the sky, ruder than the stars and moon
On high, how dare you scuffle on bye?
Kicking; me over at random as I keep.
Your offensive size nines dry. Sir—sir
Sir— even a dandelion has the curtsey,
To bow its head before it drifts on’
The wind: surely you sir could at least sing!
Do you not hear these yew trees or the grass?
Do you not hear the bird’s song in the holy?
Does that robin there not make you gasp!
Do you not hear my unchartered music? Sir—sir
Sir— I’m the journey and you are just the path,
That leads to the end of the road:
“The swirling cherry blossom or so I‘m told”
When; the wind sweeps through your left
Eye socket and tolls, know that death, is
Looking though the right still in abject absents.
Mark Heathcote's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Cemetery walks… by Mark Heathcote )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- गावनिया गावनिखा, Ronjoy Brahma
- The Farm, Joyce Sutphen
- The Exorcism, Joyce Sutphen
- The Exam, Joyce Sutphen
- Your Caddie And You, Edgar Albert Guest
- Only A Building, Edgar Albert Guest
- An Apple Tree In France, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Aunts, Joyce Sutphen
- Sometimes Never, Joyce Sutphen
- Sleep now, hasmukh amathalal