Wood Nymph
Grief
On the edge of a nelected river
Where oak trees line the way,
Remains an old graveyard.
A sacred place in disarray.
The old woman kneels and places a flower.
Her pain reveals her loss;
She remembers the exact hour
That her world was no more.
His headstone is a crumbling mound.
She is too old to manage the site.
Tears falling to the ground,
She slowly walks away.
Her words seem to whisper in the wind;
Her grief, clear to see.
Sadly she looks back once more:
"I wish you could have waited for me-"
Where oak trees line the way,
Remains an old graveyard.
A sacred place in disarray.
The old woman kneels and places a flower.
Her pain reveals her loss;
She remembers the exact hour
That her world was no more.
His headstone is a crumbling mound.
She is too old to manage the site.
Tears falling to the ground,
She slowly walks away.
Her words seem to whisper in the wind;
Her grief, clear to see.
Sadly she looks back once more:
"I wish you could have waited for me-"
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Grief
Grief
