Standing at the graveside I smell loss
the warm Autumn day turned damp
as the fog danced and swirled about
like ghosts of the past encircling
grieving relatives rend their garments
weeping openly while the children
huddle at their feet.
The rain fell harder
tapping on my shoulders
each drop reminding me
he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.
© Rebecca Sanchez 2013
This poem was written about this picture prompt.