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In The Graveyard
In the graveyard
where I often go,
I hear whispers
through the falling snow.
Something passes by me
sends chills down my spine,
I see footprints
I know they aren't mine.
The night is coming
I have to get out of here,
lots of open graves
I might fall in one, I fear.
As darkness falls
I hear footsteps behind me,
I turn around
to have a look see.
There is nothing....
but freshly fallen snow,
I have to leave
find somewhere to go.
Something grabs me
and throws me to the ground,
who or what was it?
I start to look around.
I fall into an open grave
try to find a way out with my hands,
I see a ghostly shadow
filling the hole with sand.
I try to scream
there's no one to hear,
this is my last day on earth
my life, I held so dear.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Jan.16/2005
In The Graveyard
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