Green Moss on Gray Old Stones
A poem about nostalgia, wonder, and lost stories
A cloudy height, a cold wind's bite,
Green moss on gray old stones.
Memories of fires bright
That warmed forgotten bones.
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And here I stand in ruins grand,
In halls dead and old,
Houses made by ancient hand,
Stories left untold.
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What words were said? Whose hearts were wed?
Whose secrets did they keep?
Who broke the bread? Whose tears were shed?
Where had they lain to sleep?
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Down in the field I see their ghost,
Whose hair is full of gray.
This place was one they loved the most,
On some forgotten day.
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A waking dream this seems to me,
As I touch the mossy stone.
Their lost lives come to be,
Through secrets seldom shown.
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People ask me, "What do you see,
Upon this bleary hill?"
I say with total honesty,
"This old place whispers still."
About the Creator
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Comments (11)
This is really beautiful. It took me there completely ✨🙏
Nice!😊💕
Ian, this is stunning. So so good. It delivers on the promise of its great title and subtitle! Just drips with excellence!
This is beautiful! I love the rhyme scheme, and the questions involved are able to say so much with so few words. Bravo!
Love this one, Ian!! It really reads beautifully👏👏👏
Impressive!!! Eloquently and beautifully penned!!!❤️❤️💕
This was so deep and profound. It also gave strong vibes of Robert Frost. Loved your poem so much!
Oh, the is sooo beautifully done, Ian! Love this so much ❤️
Ian, this is one of my favorite poems I've read all year. You capture the *age* of this place exquisitely. "That warmed forgotten bones." LOVE this line. What a powerful evocation of Time without ever directly speaking to it. Outstanding work, my good man. Thank you so much for sharing this amazing piece with us. 👏👏👏
Simple rhymes, simple lines! No overcomplicated rhythms! Great imagery! Liked it!
That is so beautifully put. I love this one. Just perfect.