Whispers Beneath
Poem: The roots remember every name, The wind still shudders with their shame. For some were saints and some were liars, Now all are ash in buried pyres.
Whispers Beneath
The earth is thick with secrets kept,
Where time, like ivy, slow has crept
Among the stones, beneath the yew,
Lie things the living never knew.
A withered rose upon a mound,
No mourner left to make a sound.
The grave is not a place of sleep,
But where the soil begins to weep.
The roots remember every name,
The wind still shudders with their shame.
For some were saints and some were liars,
Now all are ash in buried pyres.
A voice, was that the wind or wail?
A shadow glides along the trail.
The dead are quiet, yet not still,
They stir beneath the daffodil.
So dig not deep, or tread too near,
The earth has ears, and it can hear.
And what it’s taken, cold and black,
It may not wish to give you back.
By: Heather Patton / Verdant Butterfly
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© 2026 Heather Patton · The Verdant Butterfly
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