Footsteps tapping in the distance, I smile at the sound.

Sliver of hope in my heart leaps and bounds,

Perhaps a loved one is here, to lay a wreath above the cold ground.

My eyes are veiled by the darkness around,

I hold my breath, anticipating movement over my mound.

The footsteps recede, wait, I want to say, on the hard soil above me I pound.

My pleas fall on deaf ears, words muffled by the dirt under which I am drowned.

Alone I am inside my grave, by none a wreath I am crowned.

A/N : Morbid I know !
But have you ever wondered what would the people inside the graves be saying if they could talk? How we claim undying love and then don't turn back once we have laid them in their graves...