Poetry

Garden of Stone

On a cold winter’s night,

I lay my head to sleep.

I dreamt I walked a garden

To a nipping autumn breeze,

 

And on the ground were crested

The coloured leaves of elms.

And all around me loomed

A million and one gravestones.

 

Some were old and some were new

Of blue and marbled stone,

But on every one there could be read

A child’s forgotten dream.

 

I bent my head and wept

When my eyes beheld the last,

A lovely, bright gravestone

Of an old familiar past.

 

For all at once I saw,

The name upon the grave,

Wondered how it could have been

That my dream should end this way.

(Published: Top 10 in A Celebration of Poets anthology, Spring 2009)

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