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A new work of poetry I just recently did

I walk along the gravestones slick;
with moss and lichens and spanish moss.
The graves have fallen from their place'
making small stepping stones.
I hear the deads' whispers;
they speak of long gone sorrows.
I lament my own sad tale,
like a robin sings its song.
I remember death;
like it happened yesterday.
They tied a bag about my head;
in a foolish little game.
I screamed and cried;
And the young school boys just laughed.
I fell onto the ground, they thought it was a show.
They took the bag from off my head;
telling me not to be a twit.
But I was dead from lack of air;
my lips were tinged blue.
They ran away in pure despair;
and now I am buried and forgotten.
I walk these slick gravestones;
traveling back to my early resting place.