A Mossy Cemetery

Every year when my family goes to cut down our Christmas tree, we park next to an old cemetery.  Through the years, we’ve read the names off the stones, but this year, I got to thinking about it a little more, and my thinking about it turned into a poem.  I’m reminded of Anne of Green Gables, who enjoyed walking in a cemetery near the college she attended, if I remember correctly…  Anyway, here’s what I ended up writing.

A Mossy Cemetery

A mossy cemetery waits
behind a tumbling wall
for the cue to open all its graves
at Gabriel’s trumpet call.

No room for more within this space,
every plot is occupied,
and few are left to visit here,
for they have also died.

But I will come and visit here
the forgotten ones of old,
and wonder what the stories were
that once they might have told.

The stones that others raised for them
tell stories of their own,
for some show care was taken once
while others were left alone.

At the ostentatious ones I laugh
as I shake my head;
the man beneath the smallest stone
has just as much, now dead.

I sit and meditate on life
and death among the graves,
and read the names that haven’t worn
from off their markers brave

This pastime makes me wonder,
as I’m sure ‘twould you,
who will visit my grave
when I’m long buried too?

~Homeschool Graduate

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