Cemetery Flowers
Besides from the bunches laid with care,
There’s plenty of blooms around –
Peacefully scenting reverent air
And rising out of the ground.
And looking as though they have always grown there,
Spreading from grave to grave, unbound.
Lilies creep around the edges,
Speedwell bids the souls farewell,
And lichen colours urns and ledges,
Where the lady’s bedstraws dwell
Wrought-iron railings form the hedges,
Butterflies enchant their spell.
Yews, of course, have long been prized,
With folklore running deep,
And cypresses are well-advised
For the greenery they keep,
And Trees of Heaven, naturalised,
Like some who lie asleep.
Wych-hazel makes herself at home,
But cherries are out of place –
Confetti is such a frivolous foam
That doesn’t leave a trace.
Forget-me-nots, meantime, will roam,
Wherever they find a space.
The dead, of course, don’t care what’s living up there,
They’ve other concerns,
But graveyards are gardens we all must share,
Be we friends or weeds or worms.
And ev’ry flower we all can spare
Will help us to come to terms.
I deliberately tried to shake up the rhythm a bit between verses, to see if it could still flow. As for the location, I have visited before here and here (and, more pertinent to the season at hand, over here).
Rhyming Couplets 