The air was as crisp as fresh linen
smoothed by hand upon the bed,
the sun was sinking low,
sky awash in a rainbow of colors
from the palest of pinks to the most fiery red
As we crossed the road to the old cemetery
it felt almost as if i was being led,
past ancient markers and crumbling stones,
family names matching the streets
of the little town of barely ten thousand souls,
to a tombstone where a raven sat
watching us as we approached
Then, almost as with a tip of his hat
he spread his wings, held them outstretched
and flew off , a black shadow
disappearing into the fading light
There lay William W. Manchester
born the same day as i
but one hundred and five years earlier
and the day he died Nov. 24, 1905
one hundred and five years ago
Veteran of the Spanish American War
makes me wonder what kind of horrors he saw
Tonight a full blue moon beckons
from where to you think i will watch it rise, you reckon?
(11-24-10)
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