In the Churchyard
Last century and this, the grey chafed stone
of people’s graves, the ribbons and the flowers
on newer ones, the old left on their own,
the thoughts they symbolise, the distant hours
when many were as now, and many too
have come to visit, see one laid away
or stand and look as I do now – this yard
is full of all this.
There is nothing to do
for one who stands here, but to think if they
who love him have his love too, and to obey
their heart, and try to make their lives less hard.