Burying the losses
Misty woods of rotting leaf to soil
The haze rises visibly from the stone
A hoot owl, wise and solemn, watches over
The burial of my only friend gone home
The chill sinks deeper into the bone
Blood gone sour and flowing slow
A breath exhaled in the fog is gone
In seconds before the moonlight glow
His body was rolled into the ground
It was all that we could do but pray
The thud of the drop the only sound
At the end of this long and dreary day
©2020 John Goodie All rights reserved.
John Goodie is a recovering programmer/analyst who found an affinity for words and began writing poems and short stories, returning to college for an English Degree and Tesol certificate to teach English to refugees and immigrants of the USA and the children and people of Spain. Now he seeks his master’s degree in English with a concentration in Multicultural and Transnational Literature.