Graves And Gravel Walks Poem by Paul Brookes

the gravel crunches snapping at my heels
like snapping twigs and Autumn leaves
the rain has ceased but the bitter wind still blows
blowing the petals from wretched withered wreaths
a cavalcade of the dead just waiting for me.

time they say is a fixation of mind a man made artifice
the ticking and f ringing of too many clamorous clashing clocks
streams of tears might have watered the roads leading here
but soon those laid under turf or scattered on the wind are forgotten
all that is left is the roses scattered on the avenue of the dead.