Fluntern Cemetery
by Laurence O'Dwyer
[ poetry - march 04 ]
The fading light outside,
And the weak light within,
Without pulse,
The mist hangs with six flames,
Fluttering
Under the gathering dark
,
two figures
walk hand in hand down the cobbled lane
,
at the graveside
the statue
stills the voice that might speak,
and smiles at the sound of the seal breaking
on the bottle of whiskey
,
Without knowing
I recall a purple scarf
As if it never happened,
Or else,
Is always happening.
