The Markers
By P.H. Collins

Old Markers
Crouching low upon a hill
Staunch and silent
In half light of dawn
Reminiscent of no more
Than smooth wet stone
Where once was aching flesh
And mortal bone
Tingling with hope
Burning with desire
Unremembered and unheard
Now absent fire, within the earth
Cold gray eyes
Alone upon the sod


I am a 53 year old lawyer (federal employee) native to Wisconsin, relocated to San Antonio TX in 1995. I have been writing poetry for 30 plus years and have just begun to seek publication.


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