The spirit

Under the cypress,
lay the one person.
he could not speak,
could not hear.

it has been long since
he'd had visitors -
ever since they had let him
through their fingers.

but he did not care much,
who came or went.
so long as he could do
what he wanted to.

so long as he could watch over
his little sister's garden

as promised

-END-

this is my first poem i've ever made so please vote and comment!