Poemsby Emily Dickinson

The Forgotten Grave

 After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, - Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. 
 Weeds triumphant ranged, Strangers strolled and spelled At the lone orthography Of the elder dead. 
 Winds of summer fields Recollect the way, - Instinct picking up the key Dropped by memory.