The Grave Covered by Snow

[Lake]

The Grave Covered by Snow

A squirrel in the pine tree,
snow-flattened shrubs
prostrating themselves to the ground,
rusty leaves lay lifeless.
The cemetery is very quiet,
tombstones, low and high, crude and grand
stand still in rows, each bearing its own secret.
Here, only the north wind whistles around,
only the squirrel, leaping from tree to tree
brushes a few pine needles down,
startles a few crow's caws, breaking the silence .
Then he appears,
unshaven for as long as he's gone.
He is silent like the grave,
and light as the squirrel,
a faint, cunning smile on his mouth.
Oh, does he see the Christmas-wreath?
Does he know whose foot prints they are in front of the tomb?
I extend my hand to touch
a flake of snow,
a flake of his skin.

.
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the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the writing of more poetry -- Billy Collins

[William Zhou周道模]

I can understand this poem. Because I wrote a long Chinese poem about semetery and also been to

Babaoshan Semetery in Beijing.
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诗歌是灵魂的歌唱.
周道模

[Lake]

Good for you that you can relate to it.
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the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the writing of more poetry -- Billy Collins

[戴玨]

Interesting poem! The last 3 lines may be omitted.
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I labour by singing light
我的blog
我的專欄

[Lake]

Thanks 戴玨. Interesting reply, too.
The last three lines - right now I'm kind of reluctant to remove. But I'll think it over.

All the best,

Lake
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the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the writing of more poetry -- Billy Collins

[nightingale2]

there's a big chill down my backbone, sad. but i'm still looking forword going to the heaven, the heaven,oh, the heaven, where all happyness are, how wonderful is that? very!