Rising from the rot of ancestral decay. <br /> Moss draped sunlit columns <br /> Encircle the sanctum within. <br /> <br /> Silently I enter; <br /> Into the ancient burial ground. <br /> Only Indian summer awaits my despair. <br /> <br /> Weeping I kneel; <br /> Before the amputated altar stump. <br /> Amongst the sepia sequoia cones. <br /> <br /> Whispering I pray; <br /> Beside the fungus stained wooden dead. <br /> Beneath the eaglet's cradle overhead.<br /><br />Kathryne B. Roberts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sequoia-grove/
