A gentle stroll to clear the head,
Among the harvest of what's thought dead.
Simplicity, all knowing, carved in names and times.
Some long forgotten, eroded into privacy
That soon will be mine.
A beautiful haunting, pushing up beautiful weeds,
Lovers rest in the wise arms of dirt that bleeds.
Deep Southern vibrations worm all around,
Never was there such a silence so profound.
The secrets of life are too veiled in its own bias,
So that one never comprehends it until it has left us.
The harvest is almost among us, soon to be complete,
The best company is that which is buried beneath your feet.
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