I Often Visit My Graveyard Poem by Hanan Muzafar

He fell asleep on my shoulder;
A little room was our home,
moments colder.

When we used to roam,
learned to survive,
lighter than foam.

Where memories buried alive,
came back to pay a visit;
lot to strive.

We tried to resist,
I only found grief;
Wanderers to assist.

Sometimes it's brief,
what a failure can expect,
climbing the reef.

He has to accept;
A nest under claw,
shared fret.

Evolution on flaw,
You just became a bard;
Hard and raw.

I often visit my graveyard;
Room has become a ward.