Among the birches <br />in a field away from man, <br />is a small grave yard <br />holding my history <br />like pages of a <br />dusty novel. <br /> <br />So much of my family <br />rests there from <br />the first settler <br />to my younger brother. <br /> <br />The grave yard <br />is not a sad place for me, <br />when I think of the <br />quiet walks holding <br />my fathers hand, <br />as he introduced me <br />to my roots. <br /> <br />He rests there now <br />among the family he <br />held so dear. <br /> <br />Among the birches <br />a quiet peaceful place <br />down a dusty road, <br />off the busy highway; <br />where you hear <br />songs of birds, <br />a rippling creek, <br />the ghosts of history.<br /><br />Joyce Chelmo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/resting-place/
