There’s a big old steel gate around her grave
Though It makes no difference – crypt or cave
‘Cause clocks won’t tell the time of day
To those that sleep in dirt or clay.
It’s dark – it’s deep – what’s small will creep.
From the depths of soil on thee they’ll heap
As one takes the long nap in their plot
Where quarters are tight, like it or not.
this picked at my claustrophobic side very dark I myself want an ocean send off so I can be sand great write ❤️
Interesting comment, Crimsin. Thank you.
I’m digging dark Tim!
These two stanzas build quite the image and feeling.
Truly enjoyed this other side of your writing:)
Thanks very much, Adelly. Much appreciated. 🙂
Well this is interesting! I love the tie in with her as the subject header. It’s a tight rhyme scheme, very clever.
I appreciate your comment, Styx. Thank you.
Cleverly penned, Tim. Excellent write with amazing flow my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you my friend. 🙂
Tim as a huge fan of Emily Dickinson I can truly say this poem is uniquely composed and the crypt approach is an exquisitely new one applied to the great poet lady. You took me into her resting place with words that were vivid and strong and enveloped me in the sense of her final plot. Truly a wonderfully new and innovative view of the great poet lady. Loved this.
John
Thank you so much for all your kind comments, GM. I appreciate it. 🙂