A Dream

Last night I dreamed but not of Manderlay.
It was instead of the Oak Ridge Cemetery, in Springfield
where death evokes life.

The moon bathed everything with its silvery beams
making it easy
to find my way through row upon row of grave markers.

I was drawn inexplicably to the large tomb
with its tall obelisk, a smaller version of the one on
the Potomac in Washington, DC.

I heard sounds coming from within and walked by his statue.
Entering I stood by the massive granite cenotaph over his grave.
The sounds grew louder.

Abe Lincoln was sobbing in his grave.

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