#2258-Exploring

Last summer I travelled,

To a new homeland.

An out of the way place,

Where people stay inside,

With no hostels or diners,

For visitors passing by.

The cemetery is small,

With many headstones,

Bearing a family name,

Common for these parts.

The day was pleasant,

The company warm,

And on our way back,

We ended up behind,

A slow-moving truck.

To pass the time,

There were tales,

From a long-ago past,

That no longer seems,

To interest those close by.

Yet they are stories,

That never get old,

For they are woven,

With magical threads,

Of happiness,

Melancholy and hope.