Lucy, dear aunt,
where do you lay?
Your death has stolen
my childhood away...
hid under the earth
where wild rabbits play.
Do you rise
and glide at night
in your gown
of heavenly light,
holding violets
in your hands,
do you wander
this burial land?
Amongst the archaic
grey stoned names,
weather stained
and hung with moss,
I've searched and wondered
through all time
what evil nailed you
to a cross.
Haunting bereavement...Lucy the dear Aunt is in your heart...hearing your heart beats… Thanks sharing… Ms. Nivedita UK 10/10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Miss Sally I think you have a very wonderful sense of love and loss... While reading this poem I could not help but make the comparison to my favorite poet ever, Emily Dickinson. This is a most pleasant read
Thankyou, John, for a much appreciated comment.
Thankyou for your lovely comment.Much appreciated.