Visiting the Dead

Early one Sunday morning I was walking through the  Cemetery off Tresta Road in Glasgow . It was November and just beginning to snow . It was so quiet I could hear the snow flakes falling through the air , I took  this photo and wrote the poem in my head as I walked

 I walked the narrow path early Sunday morning
No sound except  the shhh, shhh, shhh  of snow- falling  

Falling, on the gold grey headstones ,

and the muffled church bells that called the faithful

Glasgow’s rooftops , monuments, trees and ground were slowly swathed

In soft silver snow,

And the divide between the worlds of the living and dead , thinned and blurred

Stone angels gazed at me through half closed eyes and  sad smiles,

Long forgotten sleepers, their names erased by time and rain, whispered to me –

"Remember us”.

Shivering , I tiptoed over men, women and children gone to their reward-

Dried flower tributes rustled in the winter wind and

A solitary crow watched me with amused curiosity  

As  I made  my way back to the living