I sit on Lexington Green
Writing poetry as I did
When I was sixteen
A place of spirits
Where soldiers died at early dawn
Their families watching
From houses that still stand today
I feel the eyes peering out from their homes
As the words flow from me
Filling in the gaps
In my damaged soul
Do the watchers remember me
From years ago
As they do the loved ones
That they lost?
It is said you can never go home again
But this place tells me
I should still try
To talk with the spirits
Who will always remain
To hear their words
Quietly whispered
Pulling me to join them at the end
