Under

one hundred and fifty-five men
sleeping under my feet

Shine Caswell Marley
the wind blows over you
the sky is grey today
and you cannot see it, but
it makes the moss greener,
where it creeps along the wall

just hold tight to your brother
and stop your ears from hearing
the crickets chirp above you
and the traffic whizzing by

i will mourn for you
Mr. Marley, since no one else
knows you're gone.
but if you come to visit
i will leave.