The small flat-snouted
eels of the river
tasted finer that summer
and I remember the mud banks stank,
A heavy marble cross was laid at your head
And silence, in which to visit.
I made a pact, and old customs
The deep chisel marks that cut
have softened now,
dates look less final
and the full stop after your name has not endured.
She might even smile at my yellow posy,
If she saw.
Robert James Berry
If you've any comments on
this poem, Robert James Berry would be pleased to hear from you.