Behind his shades, beneath the sliding cloud,
he turned onto Baruther Strasse.
He walked through the cemetery
with its spray paint brickwork and its
green wreathed stones and its cold clean stones
and testaments. He walked, revenant, among
the dead, over the rising shadows of
the pigeons and the yew tree,
remembering –
suddenly and all at once –
that this place was very beautiful;
very beautiful indeed.
nickreeves 
Oh, this is wonderful! (And most decidedly not doggerel.)
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Thank you, Liz!
It’ll be good to go back one day
(not necessarily just to the cemetery, but that city generally!)
Very kind 🙂 x
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If you do go back, I hope the visit inspires more poetry.
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I am a terror for returning, Liz.
To places, to times, to lovers,
often to find the magic sadly
evaporated.
But who knows!
x
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I know just what you mean, Nick . . .
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