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  • Mj Pettengill

The Pauper’s Grave ~ Benjamin Cutler Clark


On the other side... dead flowers. CCO

No friend to wipe the sweat of death

From off his face,

Or kindred, when he drew his breath

In this deserted place.

So, here he lies beneath the soil,

Where wild weeds grow,

The poor, the pauper, freed from toil,

In rough-hewn boxes low.

No marble monument to tell,

In doubtful truth,

That he had acted ill or well

In hoary age or youth.

A simple board is all that's seen,

Or points to where

In silence sleeps the poor plebeian,

Releas’d from earthly care. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dear Ones, I am inspired by others' offerings. This particular poem speaks to me. Reaching into the minds, hearts, and spirits of those who witnessed or walked in the shoes of these Numbered Souls fuels my own creative spirit. To the best of my ability, I pledge to acknowledge all that emerge, calling upon me to reclaim their voice. Mj Pettengill, Author Etched in Granite Historical Fiction Series

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