The dim light of an electric lamp,
Is the only source of comfort,
And even its glow cannot,
Reach every headstone.

Do the dead fear the dark?
Sleeping day and night?
Or is illumination irrelevant?
When eyes are hollow?

Does the silver in between,
The leaves of guardian trees,
Chill their hearts and raise,
Suspicion within their graves?

Or are the dead braver than me?
No shiver down their spines,
They have nothing to fear,
Yet I fear the nothingness.