The
mission graveyard was peaceful and calm.
Sporadic
gravestones and crosses marked
The
final resting places of some
Who for
some reason had embarked
On a new
journey--a new phase--
A final,
unavoidable transition.
Their
remains still sleep, I hope undisturbed
By
visitors at the sleepy mission.
Swaying
in the gentle breeze,
The
olive trees wistfully cast
Their
shadows on the neglected sod
And on
the graves that we wandered past.
Reading
the inscriptions on the gravestones
Brought
so many questions to mind:
Who were
the people buried here?
Whom did
they sadly leave behind?
Were
they rich or were they poor?
Was
their life easy or hard?
Was it
pestilence, age, or violence
That
brought them here to sleep in this yard?
My
glance fell upon a simple stone.
I
couldn't help but think that maybe
Some
people's lives had been torn apart;
Carved
in the gravestone was one word: Baby.
Oh, Life
and Death, you keep us wondering.
No
matter how much we people yearn
To
second-guess you, you surprise us
And
deliver us to the grave or urn.
(9-23-14)
By Bob B
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