The Marker Stone

It was just an old stone
A Marker Stone
Set in place to remember
Property lines
Of old farms and fields.

Covered by leaves
I stumbled over it
And found it to be
A remembrance
Of long ago.

I did the same with you
Dear
Falling to my knees
Without noticing
Someone already placed his marker stone.

How I loved your fields
The fresh daylight
Upon your petals
And the grassy scent
Of you.

But your marker stone
Was secreted from me
Covered by the debris
Of hard years
And harder words.

When you revealed the stone
I crumbled to powder
To ash
Like the dryness
That consumed you.

But there was his marker stone…
On the third finger
Of your left hand.