a very grand grave,
Very, very, old,
but still standing.
Surrounded
by carved stone fencing,
headed off
by an ornate Gothic cross.
But now unattended
for scores of years,
there is a new mourner.
Inside the rectangle,
a tree has sprouted,
and been allowed to grow.
The main stem, erupting
from where the head would lay.
The roots drawing
from the nutrients below.
When I look at this scene,
I feel pity and joy in equal parts,
as I sense both neglect
...and resurrection.
So.
Do graveyards need a license
for their poet-magnets
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