The Gravestone

The gravestone

of the farmhand

who had been crushed

by the overturned tractor

looks aged now

and weeds cover

most of the writing.

When you showed me it

that summer it was new

and freshly clean

and the writing clear.

The churchyard is silent

and the dead still sleep.

Where you are now

I have no idea

my parents moved away with us

almost overnight

to some other country estate

and you left behind

to your singular fate.

We were thirteen that year

and I new to the small hamlet

near the farm and you near

the church at the other end.

That summer day

we stood in the small churchyard

and you talked about the grave

and the farmhand's death

and his wife gone

from the tied cottage

that went with his job.

I remember

your soft hand holding mine.

You smelt of apples and hay

on that long ago day.

Reviews

[Neha agrawal]

A memory wrapped in dust, grief, and the aching clarity of childhood endings. It reads like someone whispering to a ghost, not for answers but just to remember.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Neha, for reading and taking time to comment