Ground deep in cold, cold stone, CASSIDY, <br />chiselled long ago by craftman's hand <br />on a Celtic Cross. <br />Slowly a finger traces each etched letter, <br />a vivid nail gouges green velvet moss <br />creeping into, living in, CASSIDY, <br />corroding the name as sly worms long <br />past corrupted the dead Cassidy. <br /> <br />Unvisited for many years have lain <br />the remains of Cassidy. <br />So long since he dropped to rot, <br />decompose, return to ash and dust. <br />Below lies Cassidy as bones. <br />Lonely Cassidy as white, white bones.<br /><br />James Mills<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassidy/
