Edgar A. Tieman

FOREST GLEN

It was unlike any morning
Unlike any normal morning
Not a sound of song
Or whisper of breeze
Not even a ripple left by the boat

Not a sound made under foot
From the leaves from fall
Silent tears fell…
As fall leaves are cleared
From unmarked graves
From where they lay
“Why, why can’t he admit?”

I held her close…
Her sobs echoing…
Through the Forest Glenn
On a Forested Island
Their home of rest
March 27, 2000