Sandals in the Graveyard

Strands of curling grass

anointed my sandal-clad feet

with cool dampness

where the sun had not yet risen

high enough to dry the dew

covering the tombstones and grass.

No sound disturbed the

absolute silence.

My only companions were

the imagined feet of

priests and pilgrims,

friars and nuns

as we strode though


and holy places

clad in sandals,

wet from October’s

early morning dew.

12 thoughts on “Sandals in the Graveyard”

    1. Thanks, JeanMarie. The poem was based upon an experience I had during an early morning walk in our churchyard. The picture was a fortunate coincidence when I was looking for a picture of a monk wearing sandals in a garden.

      Liked by 1 person

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