PaulsPen

Caretaker

I stumbled upon her, really,
half-buried in the snowy ground,
a corner veiled by long grass
reaching up to trip me, a fellow soul
in this lonely speck of forest. One grey
fieldstone, battered by time
standing sole witness,
for there were none around her,
oddly lonesome near this crestfallen
oak. Strange…

Her smooth face, once
chiseled in a rustic hand, now
unreadable, nameless, dateless. Self-
conscious, I dig just a little, freeing
two words preserved by the ground
in which she slumbers:      Child       Fever
As is our custom, I place
a small stone atop hers,
kissing her cheek,
the last mourner.

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