Winter Graves

Winter Graves

by

Richard Vance


In the harsh cold morning light of dawn,
The resting place of souls; the cemetery
Is a lonely place indeed.

More so with all the
Hallowed resting places
Covered with a plight of snow.
The gray cold stones that mark the spots,
Cry out against the blustery sky.

No visitors come by.
No favorite flowers left to
Brighten up the scene.
All left alone.

Eternal stillness; deadly quiet.
No footsteps up above.
Forgotten souls.

No Christmas lights or bulbs or tinsel
Don the graves;
No sleigh bells ring
To Remind the dead of living things.

Time passes all the same
For those who walk upon
The right side of the grass.
So please enjoy the company
Of your quickened souls;
Of those we love;
Favorite places,
Sights and sounds and smells,
and all the memories that we make.

For sooner than we think,
We will join the deeded fate of all;
To simply wait;
And nevermore in the present state,
To speak our hearts
And hear the words we may long to hear,
For eternity has called us home to stay.