Where We Buried It Poem by D. Harris

This is where we buried It
with bones, prickly like ash,
and a toothsome grin,
not that of the cavalier
but of Death herself //

but that was long ago
and we are older now
and that was long ago

Lady madonna,
shall we wander through this boneyard any longer?
I think we should not,
but for your wish that we should
we shall
and shall search the lonely graves
for the bones of your lover,
(he is long dead now, you know?) //
I think we should find nothing,
but for your wish that we should
we shall
and shall drink a soup
made from his remains
(he is long dead now, you know.)

Shall we find where we buried It?
I think we should not,
but for your wish that we find It
I think we should not.
(I think we forgot long ago...)
This is where we buried It? //
I think we forgot that we buried It...
long ago //
we are older now
and that was
long ago