Walking in my village on a hot and mellow Canterbury day I sat for a moment ..and wrote. I think it came from listening to friends going through "stuff". Although it is, of course, understandable, it can become so consuming that it dominates the lives and loves of those around them.
Sitting
in a Graveyard
It
makes one think -
Sitting
in a graveyard -
of
all the small and niggley
things
which clog the mind
It
brings you back to basics -
to
reality, mortality
(or
whatever you want to call it)
Anyway
-
as
I said -
It
makes one think -
It
brings to mind
Those
wasted hours
Worrying
and wondering -
Has
the cat enough to eat?
Was
that card I bought suitable for a picky friend?
Did
that character on the TV soap -
Really
have an affair with the judge?
Sleepless
nights spent
Wishing
I had helped more -
Or
less
Said
more -
or
less
It
might have changed the world
Or
at least
my
world (or their's) - or not!
All
these thoughts do I have
Sitting
in the sunshine
In
the graveyard
Instead
of contemplating
-
How the light falls
on
that rock
Or
How
a bumble bee can fly
(Especially
laden
with
a bumper crop of pollen)
Or
How
my house is tucked
Safe
behind those trees
and
only I know where to look -
So
I will
