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On the day I saw evil
I rode my bicycle down to the graveyard at the foot of Concord Hills, 
the very one that I had passed every morning going to school,
returning home in the afternoon, sometimes taking note
but never sparing a second thought
and I walked among the dead, even talked to some of them
as the sun fell below the horizon and their spirits rose again to the surface.
“Turn back,” said the older ones, “You’ve still got youth on your side.
Live your life until God calls you home”
But I couldn’t hear them. I only saw the pale and silent 
ghost of a young lady, my age when she died,
her bud of life trampled before it could ever bloom,
alone at the top of a hill under a willow tree
dressed in a moonlight gown pure as pallid skin.
I sprinted up the hill, screaming “Why? 
Why? Tell me why!”
afraid her spirit would quit this plane
as quickly as her life had left the earth.
Her thin lips formed not a word, but her ashen, unblinking eyes
staring straight to the bottom of my soul
told me all I needed to know.
I left the place and never returned,
for there will be time enough for us to get acquainted
when we are all sleeping together.

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