Cassidy - Poem by James Mills
Ground deep in cold, cold stone, CASSIDY,
chiselled long ago by craftman's hand
on a Celtic Cross.
Slowly a finger traces each etched letter,
a vivid nail gouges green velvet moss
creeping into, living in, CASSIDY,
corroding the name as sly worms long
past corrupted the dead Cassidy.
Unvisited for many years have lain
the remains of Cassidy.
So long since he dropped to rot,
decompose, return to ash and dust.
Below lies Cassidy as bones.
Lonely Cassidy as white, white bones.
Comments about Cassidy by James Mills
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl