When mowing down tall grass
On lazy summer afternoons
Between long lines of gray
Granite slabs in pre-walkman
Or mp3 player days
There wasn’t much to do
Once your mind would
Wander while walking along
Those rolling green rows
In the midday heat
Then read an occasional
Grave taking note
Of the names and dates
So artfully etched in stone
To figure out just how
Many years each particular
Person passed here
Wondering to myself about
Whether it had been enough
For them to leave their mark
And if any distant relative
Was left behind now
Who remembered fondly
The soul laid to rest mere
Feet below my steps.
