Nancy

 
There is a very old Presbyterian cemetery within walking distance from where I live. It is dotted with ancient mausoleums and new ones. One day as I was walking my little mutt around it I noticed a grave marker I hadn’t seen before. It had the name of Nancy Cole on a small grave marker. The date was in the 1800’s, couldn’t tell for sure. It was located in the backside of the cemetery, no other graves around it. It sparked my imagination, and I wrote a few poems about Nancy Cole. Here is one of them . . .


Sun-dappled grave stone stands alone,
Grass does not grow around that stone.
It's kept apart from other graves.
One lone marker. Wait! Is that a moan?

Some say the fever took the lass,
And other's point to her disgrace,
And some make the sign when they pass,
The young girl's restless, resting place.

Secrets are kept about this one,
Spanish moss, mint juleps of old,
Family mystery, the girl was shunned,
Rumors persist and stories told.

Midnight hush-hush in the old south,
The girl's drunkard kin; will he tell?
Cotton plantations, hush yo mouf,
What had she done; this southern belle?