Observations At St.Sixtus Cemetery On An August Afternoon... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Liquid stone feels smooth
'pon an August morning sunrise,
misted breeze, leaves flutter, dries the lay of the morning dew.
Nascent heat, noon arrives,
the swelter of a cloudless Sunshine,
the weakest of natures seed
slowly bow and kiss the sod;
how strangely apropos
in this field of stone and death.
Another blistering Summer day approaching...no shelter here;
just a quiet of arches standing with their stained, aged cracks-
and the mid-noon scorch
of the hanging veil of breathlessness,
reminds me of the feeling
of what it might be like...

「come the day this field be mine to sleep」.

The rugged sod, uneven, from its plow and spade invasions,
patches course, stiff and umber
rocked soil lends Death no mercy,
'til the late of afternoon
passes torch to welcome twilight,
kaleidoscopic pour in hues
o'er rows of still crosses,
casting long haunting shadows
from Willow branches dancing
by early evenings brow relieving breeze.
All this I saw observing
God's mortal Will Be Done,
on a hill, in a field of silence..
where my breath of air be Life's only witness.
FjR-MMXIX