Walking
the rows
Of
aged and sunken stone
I
came across a large patchwork feral cat
Laying
at its feet
Was
the still, small body
Of
a young rabbit
The
feline scampered away
Along
the leaf-littered path
And
disappeared
Into
the surrounding stones
I
picked up the still-warm body
And
found it still alive
I
cradled the creature in my arms
Stroking
fingers through its soft fur
Several
rows east
Sat
upon the edge of a tomb
I
found it had died in my hands
I
placed its limp body
Upon
the grave of a dead child
Marked
only with the words ‘Little Tommy’
And
that’s where I left it
As
I wandered away
Through
the crooked stones
