John

John

I tried to read your name. John,
I think, died 1663, aged one hundred.
Where you as stubborn as your stone?
Did you carve your name on the world
as deeply as the letters that record
your passing from our story?

I found you by chance, in a corner
of a rural graveyard, forgotten,
perhaps, all those years between us.
How many footsteps did you form?
How many lives connect with you?
I touched your grave as I passed…

…thanked you for our moment.

Derek Ross

By photos,poetry and haiku by Derek Ross

I am a photographer/ poet from Dumfries in South West Scotland. I concentrate on minimalist images and prefer using an iPhone these days. As far as my writing is concerned, I usually write short poems (some in Scots dialect), hence my interest in haiku and related forms.

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