I walk upon fragile frosted fescue
Among stone-cold limestone men, alert to frozen time.
Stalwart crosses in Celtic poses
Flanked by icy benches standing guard.
I spy leaves lift like frightened birds
From white oak branches, rise into cerulean sky,
While praraie grasses bob and weave in cliques
Whispering urgent news; leaves tumble overhead
Then settle into long grasses beyond me.