There is a graveyard where I like to sit
The gate is open for the world at large
And on a seat I think and write a bit
The beauty helps my weary soul recharge
And every town should have a place somewhere
The people can remove themselves from life
Among the flowers on a wooden chair
How simple it can be to reduce strife
The Quakers lie long dead beneath the ground
Their bodies now the food of stem and leaf
The circle of our lives a happy round
Their garden is for joy and not for grief


Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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