Dance of the Dead
Row on row green graves sighand reach with mossy hands
Tumbling old gravestones
begin their hoary dance
Strange music flows surreal
ancient trees guard the realm
Dark owls and bats surge wild
flapping with old dead souls
spirits blend, merge and moan
to the music of death
breezes laugh, darkness twists
the graveyard grips and cries.
Among old graves, delight.
Fine splendor in the night.
Poetry by Lavender
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Written on 2007-03-19 at 05:59
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