The creeping chill
but nothing lives
the air is still
nothing gives.
Old floral wreath
round stones decay
insipid colours
no life to say
The gravels crunch
but nothings there
gates are chained
no ones aware
That after all
have gone to sleep
behind closed gates
the spirits creep
Guardians of dead
they walk
no moans or chains
no groans or talk
Just roam the damp
the sodden ground
keepers of night
without a sound
So if you brave
this place alone
be sure to leave
or claim your stone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great dark poem, really great flow to it.