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The grave

The grave

A Poem by Maxwell Ryder

I worked all my life
To wed, love my wife,
Raise a child,
Cultivate my flower bed;
Build a home,
Just to get a fine
Piece of real estate:
My grave,
Only to die instead.
And what a fine view
I'm left,
A pine crate,
And chrysanthemums
I can't see,
Which grow above my head.

© 2017 Maxwell Ryder



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Shelved in 1 Library
Added on September 11, 2017
Last Updated on September 11, 2017

Author

Maxwell Ryder
Maxwell Ryder

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Teacher, reader, news and poetry junkie more..

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