Burried treasures…


at the top of the hill
above daisys blooming..
is a tiny graveyard..
surrounded by
a rusty fence..
the gate has no road….
one must walk the path.
from the meadow below
it seems
to touch the clouds…
There a poet sleeps
on pillows of words
100 years
of buried time…
I go there
hoping to hear
the words
in the wind..
that speak only
to those
who  hear
such things…
where the wind
whispers thoughts…..
long forgotten.

picture and poem by connetta

~ by connetta on October 26, 2007.

2 Responses to “Burried treasures…”

  1. I love your poetry.

  2. There are, indeed, things that one hears if one listens.

    I love the images in this poem — the pillow of words, 100 years of time buried, words lingering in the wind.

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