Cemetery Rain
Do the birds ring in the dawn?
For I hear them not.
Does the sun arise each morn?
Its beauty serves not I.
Do flowers beckon to a man,
Do budding tulips lift the heart?
Does a rose name love it’s purpose?
To me, they are without.
Do poets still compose their words
With a view to inspire?
I cannot feel their welling hearts
For mine has turned to stone.
All my senses are forgotten,
All my earthly love, entombed.
I see nothing close to beauty,
All that was is dead.
All I have for comfort,
All that yet remains,
I still feel the beating rhythm
Of the cemetary rain.