A piece of formless doggerel I dreamed up
Tammy suffered from incurable taphophilia
In and out of crypts she went
Big tombs and small, barrows and tumuli
She savoured dark, long grottoes
Lined so bitterly with the bones of yore
Smelling the staleness of the charnel house
And there were elegies in every churchyard
Under gibbous moons and pale clouds
Why be lost and sundered in our world
When she can live in her own?
This is a world of statuary, weeds and loss
Where crosses form dark salients against the sky
What was the point of Tammy’s life?
Did not a husband and children beckon?
Can she share her life with such things
While her taphophilia remains so strong?
But in the cool recesses of the graveyard
She escapes the drudgery of existence
Ossuaries, family vaults and mausoleums
Call out to her with an architectural sigh
While death is an endless tale
Tammy will frolic among the gone and forgotten
Life will not diminish her need
And the stones and bricks remain as they were