Resting Place Poem by Joyce Chelmo
Resting Place
Among the birches
in a field away from man,
is a small grave yard
holding my history
like pages of a
dusty novel.
So much of my family
rests there from
the first settler
to my younger brother.
The grave yard
is not a sad place for me,
when I think of the
quiet walks holding
my fathers hand,
as he introduced me
to my roots.
He rests there now
among the family he
held so dear.
Among the birches
a quiet peaceful place
down a dusty road,
off the busy highway;
where you hear
songs of birds,
a rippling creek,
the ghosts of history.
Dear Red, This is beautifully written. It is a very personal piece and communicated with clear, clean writing, strong images and great love and respect for your family and its traditions. D(amn) F(ine) W(riting) ! Best, Hugh
And the poet who stands with a lamp of poetry even in the graveyard, a light of love for us to see, Love Duncan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 12:52:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Joyce, you chose the proper tone for this particular subject and your beauty as a human shines through in those words. A sense of calm came over me after reading this charmer. Kudos, Red. Warmest regards, Greg