The Last Mile

Greenery carpets rolling hills

that rise beyond the river.

This hidden slice of verdant peace

– a warm and welcoming giver


Visual wonder stands astride

its history and its spirit,

Many a soul has tarried here;

yet some have come to fear it.


I walk the path that winds along,

and through the ancient trees.

Bearing the voices of those who came

to render final pleas.


This scene awash in summer’s glow

betrays a darker shade.

The march of those who lost their all

and those who’d been betrayed.


I walk the last mile down the hill

to where my dearest lies.

Serenely down there in the dell,

which gaudy day belies.


Past the willow to the place

where grievers come to wail.

Relaxed, I pause, a parting sigh,

and peer behind the veil.


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