He walked past the grave yard every day
There never was very much to say.
He didn’t talk much any way
But whenever he walked past the graveyard
He knew a special silence in his mind
For a while, he would be aware of it
As he walked
This silent grief, this pain, this sorrow for the world for this world
They had died before him
So it goes.
But all the same here was
Alive and walking to work.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 
He walked past the grave yard every day
There never was very much to say.
He didn’t talk much any way
But whenever he walked past the graveyard
He knew a special silence in his mind
For a while, he would be aware of it
As he walked
This silent grief, this pain, this sorrow for the world for this world
They had died before him
So it goes.
But all the same here was
Alive and walking to work.
P.S. Rochelle, I have another good photo for you.
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Dear Stephan,
Somber poem and well done. Having retired recently, I relate work with death. 😉
Is there a reason you posted this here and not on your blog?
Looking forward to your photo.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I just thought I’d write something quick. Sorry, I forgot how to forward you the photo.
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