Friday, March 20, 2009

In A Field of Daisies

Daisies arrayed row on row
On a blanket of mottled green
Marked by black and white monoliths
On the ground and above it
Only the sun to ease the reposed from
The tedium of morning, noon and end of day
Just stars and the moon give brightness
To the dark and cold of an unsympathetic night
Memories swept like dried leaves and cut grass
No visitors now lay garlands and wreaths
No more caring hands to pull weeds
And unwanted tare on the unkempt lawn
A beloved husband then overly grieved
Now in aloneness amidst other scattered bones
A son and daughter’s mortal remains interred
Beneath a coarsely woven impenetrable veil
Of forgotten existence and faded affections
Soon names and epitaphs on hard stone
Are erased by wind, rain and indifference
Not even the lowly worms delight
Over bare and dried up skull and bones
Only hypocritical daisies bow in the wind
As if in reverence, as if in remembrance
Are the dead thankful for the decay
And insentience of their mortal remains?
Surely they are for they can no longer feel,
Nor see the faithlessness of spouses and lovers
Ingratitude of children and the inconstancy of friends.

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