This stone called to me, some might say
I was walking past and saw the grain
Upon the stone, chiseled this inscription
"Gathered home", this piqued my interest

What home is this here plot of land?
It isn't fit but for a ghost
One cannot have a fam'ly here
However, together, they lie

And our reaper carries a scythe
Who says he doesn't bushel lives
The grass still long on this walled square
Possibly still, uncollected