~ Non-Norse Poetry by me ~
No need to eat it. For his soul
Was sated at the sight, and fed
On one thing life had left untouched.
It did not wither with his years.
The vision's lustre, bright as blood,
Stayed speckless when his heart turned dust.
He took it with him to the mould -
A dream of life, and life of dreams.
Perhaps one day the seeds would rise.
He was beyond their shovels' reach.
The smell of apples filled the grave.
© 2005 Michaela Macha
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
Image: "Excavation", © Yngve Oliver Eriksen, used by permission. More by him at Artwanted.com