I know they’re there, beneath the ground;
I doubt they know or care
that I have come to visit them,
and walk among them there.
To stroll in serene silence
down the rows of weathered stones;
to read the words, the names, the dates:
those facts that transcend bones.
There is great peace in doing so;
in knowing that to die
is nothing but a part of life:
as they passed, so will I.
To wonder on each person’s life
beyond the epitaph:
to sense somehow a whispered word;
a song, a sigh, a laugh.
For these were people, just like me;
each with a real life
that went beyond the tombstone’s simple
I read the dates of birth and death
and picture in my mind
a life lived long or all too brief
fate is not always kind.
The ones that most affect me
are those dead in their teens;
they had the chance to taste of life,
but not what living means.
And there are stones whose words are gone,
which strikes my heart a blow;
for those words were the only clue
to those who lie below.
For those who feel burdened
by daily stress and strife,
I urge a stroll among the stones
to truly value life.
-- Dorien Grey