Body

Entwined with vines and leaves  
I am left to watch, waiting
With eyeless, lidless sockets
That stare into the trees above

My flesh stolen by thieves
I am left to rot, hating
With a beatless, bloodless heart
That does not feel the touch of love

For me nobody grieves
I am left to earth, grating
With a mindless, soulless grave
That is bare but for one foxglove