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Literature Text
Looking back on gravestones,
Those playful things of old,
Reminds me of my past
And things I'd tried to hold fast.
With a swift, cool wind
And a brisk, warm walk
Any battered old building
Becomes food for my thoughts.
A graveyard is a churchyard and
A churchyard's by a church and
The church I walked past
(that battered old building)
Had no graveyard that I saw.
Yet that church is a church,
And churches have churchyards
And churchyards are graveyards
And graveyards have gravestones
And so it is that I contemplate gravestones
Without having seen any.
Those playful things of old,
Reminds me of my past
And things I'd tried to hold fast.
With a swift, cool wind
And a brisk, warm walk
Any battered old building
Becomes food for my thoughts.
A graveyard is a churchyard and
A churchyard's by a church and
The church I walked past
(that battered old building)
Had no graveyard that I saw.
Yet that church is a church,
And churches have churchyards
And churchyards are graveyards
And graveyards have gravestones
And so it is that I contemplate gravestones
Without having seen any.
I wrote this on my way home from work today... I was walking to a bus stop (actually past several bus stops 'till I saw the bus at which point I went to the nearest bus stop and, y'know, stopped), and walked past a church that looked in fairly sad repair. That occurrence led to... Well, to this poem.
© 2014 - 2024 Kaboodleschmitt
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