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The Poet in the Graveyard

The Poet in the Graveyard

I saw a man in a graveyard-
writing a sonnet-
die by his wife’s tomb… die
by her stone.

They call him a poet,
call it
but ya know… it’s probably just
his time to go.

He wrote her a poem,
wrote her a sonnet
in the middle of June…
feeling alone.

I was reading his poem,
nothing was on it
What he was feeling… we’ll
never know.

Still while reading his poem,
reading his sonnet,
[A eulogy terse,
but I read it slow]

perhaps nothing he felt,
so nothing was on it…
as his only verse
had died long ago.