Grave

It's called, oh, Widecombe.

The town's called Widecombe, and just outside Widecombe there's this grave, and it's called Jay's Grave.

Am I-

Why does that name sound familiar?

His parents used to go down there for some holidays for a couple of weeks, and my dad used to have a horse, and he, he was able to, like, ride his horse on the moors with his friends and stuff.

So he used to go down and do, like, horse riding and stuff on the moors.

And, uh, so there's this grave that's in the middle of the roadside, right? It's an unmarked grave, but it's got a stone, and it's called Jay's Grave, uh, or, or it can be called Kitty's Grave as well.

It's Kitty's Grave or it's Jay's Grave.

Well, it says Yazoo City, a haunting.

In Glenwood Cemetery in Yazoo City, Mississippi, there is a grave surrounded by an iron chain known as the Witch's Grave.

According to the legend, an old woman lived along the Yazoo River and was accused of luring fishermen into the water and torturing them.

A sheriff eventually chased her into the surrounding swamps as she became trapped in quicksand.

T'was there I woke, and knew the sumptuous comfort left in drowsy eyes.

Sutherland's Grave Sutherland, Forby Sutherland, one of Captain Cook's seamen, who died shortly after the endeavour anchored in Botany Bay, 1770.

He was the first Englishman buried in Australia.

all night long the sea out yonder all night long the wailful sea vexed of winds and many thunders seeketh rest unceasingly seeketh rest in dens of tempest where like one distraught with pain shouts the wild-eyed's bright confusion seeketh rest and moans in vain ah but you should hear it calling calling when the haggard sky takes the darks and damps of winter with the mournful marsh fowls cry even while the strong swift torrents from the rainy ridges come leaping down and breaking backwards million-colored shapes of foam then and then the sea out yonder chiefly looketh for the boon portioned to the pleasant valleys and the grave sweet summer moon boon of peace the still the saintly spirit of the dew delts deep yellow dells and hollows haunted by the soft dim dreams of sleep all night long the flying water breaks upon the stubborn rocks ooze filled forelands burnt and blackened smit and scarred with lightning shocks but above the tender sea-thrift but beyond the flowering fern runs a little pathway westward pathway quaint with turn on turn westward trending thus it leads to shelving shores and slopes of mist sleeping shores and glassy bays of green and gold and amethyst there tread gently gently pilgrim there with thoughtful eyes look round cross thy breast and bless the silence lo the place is holy ground holy ground forever stranger all the quiet silver lights dropping from the starry heavens through the soft australian nights dropping on those lone grave grasses come serene unbroken clear like the love of god the father falling falling year by year yeah and like a voice supernal there the daily wind doth blow in the leaves above the sailor buried ninety years ago End of poem.