Tammy the Taphophile

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    
©1996-present Peter Greenwell Text and images Creative Commons License
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