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W.B. Yeats

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2012

I walk amongst the dead with the memories of the living
As the raven cast its shadow upon the graves of the giving
Each stone a mile I’ve wondered
Each word a thought I’ve squandered
Swaying like a still born beside the lily
Next to you my poems seem silly

Author's Notes/Comments: 

so we stop but this beautiful old grave yard that has a coffee shop so I can pee and get a photo of the old celtic cross, turns out W.B. Yeats rests there, naturally I have writers block! gah

lol but I did sit with him and write this poem best could and then my writers block lifted in the car :) Me thinks he gifted me a cure

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©18 April 2012 - 6:24pm — running_with_rabbits