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Thoughts At Mt. Moriah Churchyard
Roger Belton |
I stand alone beneath spreading trees,
Midst the freshness of the early morning breeze.
Atop this quiet and lonely hill,
Where only songs of birds the air does fill.
I'm surrounded by monuments, those marble gravestones,
That mark the places of my ancestral bones.
Many times I've stood in this very same place,
Trying to envision my forefather's face.
What was he like, so very long ago,
Did he hope, did he dream? I'd like to know.
What were his thoughts, coming home from the War?
Did he expect his life to go on, just as before?
Did he, too, stand in this very same place,
Wondering, as I, about his ancestor's face?
Did he think of those who, decades past,
Left home not knowing it would be their last?
Did he hurt and mourn for those gone before,
Those brothers he left on the battlefield's floor?
As I listen intently, I can almost hear
His weeping heart, for all those he held dear.
Ah, it's only the wind moving through the trees,
But it warms my heart to believe what I please.
For by listening to him, across the years,
I touch his heart, his soul...and his tears.
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