A thicket of dead leaves piled against it.
Somewhere in the trees
Below the endless gray sky
A crow caws out displeasure
At the change of seasons,
The failure of fall,
The woe of winter.
It’s the loneliest place
A garden full of stones
Stones with names
And dates and brief epitaphs
Together Forever
Resting in His Arms
Sweet Wife, Devoted Husband
The chill wind wanders
Amid the stones
Tossing leaves from its path
Lingering at an obelisk from early last century
Curling around a mausoleum
With its stout wooden door
Locked to keep out the living.
A scattering of flowers are shriveled and shedding
petals
Mortal like the quiet ones buried here.
It’s the loneliest place
Yet all of us will one day visit
Some to linger for a moment, an hour
Some to stay
Till trumpets call to the dawn
and bring us to His presence
