Lonely Walk

Cold grey dawn, mist overcoat
comforting as damp muslin gauze 
shrouding the eyes of the detached and departed.

Decrepit footpath, cracked and neglected
as the mothers graves across the field
backs cracked by careless footfalls no doubt.

My own gone these many years now
the Belfast cemetery not far from here
her stone unfound after searching.

Somber Irish mist, where legends and relatives mingle
sometimes seen, but always there,
waiting.

Stoic Poetry.