I am stretched on your grave And would lie there forever; If your hands were in mine I’d be sure we’d not sever. My apple tree, my brightness, ‘Tis time we were together For I smell of the earth And am stained by the weather.
When my family think That I’m safe in my bed From night until morning I am stretched at your head, Calling out to the air With tears hot and wild My grief for the girl That I loved as a child.
livelife1234 Poetry (1)