This verdant shroud, o’er, aging stone
Smells of the, moorland’s, insolence
This germ of life, which faith, had sown
For a tomb, to bear, sin of senescence!
What whispers, out, this green mystique
To us, as we, unearth its soul:
“In the, face of fall, life’s lasting streak
Is miles beyond, death’s hyperbole!”
Herein begins, pain’s rhapsody
Where ends, the psalm of, bliss’s belief
Our unsaid words, their ennui
Define, to death, life’s leitmotif!
Behold, this art, of alchemy
Which kindles, spark, in a, vacuous vale
Amid life’s deceit, and death’s orgy
As We Walk Past The Mossy Trail!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra