The cold hearts and souls of the men who are long gone with the wind and rain of last winter still haunt here during summer's day. They speak none of their last hours, but their presence can be felt there under the shifting earth. Their morbid eyes, some still open under the earth that covers them, stare up into the sky through the dirt and the weeds that grow above them. Their cries have long been silenced by the passing of the sun and the moon over the howling wind.
No comments:
Post a Comment