this moment of easy leisure
a communion with the lazy bone plain
where our fathers once stirred
a single bird flits from pine
to oak to wire to stone
a measure of his own sacred ground
with each breath his call evokes
another picture held still in time
the way color melts away from sight
here among our brethren close
some at rest and others on watch
keeping a lonely vigil among the faithful
our mockingbird in the cemetery.
Keith Pearson
I live in southern New Hampshire and works with special ed students at a local high school.
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