Burial Mound Poem by Nastasimir Franovic

Quietness

An oak will grow out of me.
It will sprout from my eyesight
And start the way up through the canopy
It will overhang the mound and make a shade
The beam of the sun's rays through the cloud and canopy will sink to me
And spilled on the damp moss
I'll be there and I will not exist anymore
In remembrance, it will be mentioned sometimes that I once existed
Moody and rigid
Angry at a world not made for quitters
In late autumn, field mice will revive me
playing hide and seek in a pile of leaves
I will finally shut up and no one will ask me why


Nastasimir Misko Franovic