Elegy Poem by Kevin Cowdall

I can think
of nothing so forlorn
as a graveyard
in the midst of winter:

Where neglected tombstones
lie draped with a frosty shroud
and bare-limbed trees
tremble in the cutting wind.

It is a bleak, deserted,
dare I say, soulless place,
without a dash
of yellow, or red, or green
to break the cold monotony.

It is a redundant wasteland,
as defunct and timeless
as the lifeless bones
beneath the snow-bleached earth.