WHISPER ME THE GRAVEYARD

WHISPER ME THE GRAVEYARD

Whisper me the graveyard, when it's time for me to go

Whisper me the graveyard, in tones so hushed and low.

Make it a suggestion and not a stern demand,

And I'll turn up the hearing aid and try to understand.

Whisper me the graveyard in autumn when the sky,

Is blue as the cool pigment in my handsome lover's eye.

When the moisture of the morning dew clings to the dried up leaf.

Speak to me of the graveyard from the depths of your belief.

Whisper me the graveyard in springtime when the flowers,

Spring forth in vibrant colors and I can while away the hours

Breathing in the fragrance of the iris and the rose,

Making friends with the lonesome wind as it gently blows.

Whisper me the graveyard in summer when the heat,

Makes the granite tombstones sweat and beg for sweet relief.

When lightning cracks and thunder roars and terror fills the sky,

Give me hope and harbor and the courage still to try.

Whisper me the graveyard in winter when the snow,

Holds fast to the tree branches that sag and hang so low.

When the harsh clouds and their bitter judgments echo far and wide,

And I long and lust for a warmer clime where I can now reside.

Whisper me the graveyard and help me face the truth,

That I am not the vibrant soul I once was in my youth.

Don't screech to me the graveyard in a tone righteous and bold,

Or haul me to the mortuary before the body's cold,

Just turn up my hearing aid and say it loud and clear,

That the sands of time are calling me to conclude my business here.

Whisper me the graveyard in my ear so clear and strong,

That I believe deep in my bones it was my thought all along.

  

Whisper me the graveyard, in words so hushed and low,

And burn me in the fiery furnace steady as you go.

Spread my ashes liberally in the waves along the sand,

Whisper me the graveyard and at last I'll understand.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED