It's a place where silence
has the loudest voice
from those who lie there
though not by choice
A place where old swivel head
from the belfry stares
down upon them
with no more cares
And the dewy mist falls
where generations abide
drenching all, who take
the last ride
And from the soil beside
an ageing Church door
a Rose now grows
where none grew before
Grown from the heart
of a Maiden below
only for the eyes
of her loving Beau.
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A very sad and full of melancholy Very touching poem. Thank you for sharing this Beauty, John Wren!
Grown from the heart of a Maiden below only for the eyes of her loving Beau.Beautiful!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Deeply poignant and touching poem. So beautifully written.