Brian’sPoems

A Place to Always

...rest in peace.

My old neighborhood
was built on abundant land,
just north of the great river
beside a spring-filled grove.

It must have been pretty then.
It must have been a sight to see.
I can picture the sycamore trees
standing amidst the rolling hills.

As a child I often wondered
where they found the heavy stones
to build the thick cemetery walls.
And I would watch the diesel trains,
forever coming and going,
clueless where the tracks led.

A hundred and fifty years ago
that creek and the railroad
must have meant a life and a living,
while the cemetery was perhaps
a place to always rest in peace.