The mission graveyard was peaceful and calm.
Sporadic gravestones and crosses marked
The final resting places of some
Who for some reason had embarked
 
On a new journey--a new phase--
A final, unavoidable transition.
Their remains still sleep, I hope undisturbed
By visitors at the sleepy mission.
 
Swaying in the gentle breeze,
The olive trees wistfully cast
Their shadows on the neglected sod
And on the graves that we wandered past.
 
Reading the carved inscriptions on the gravestones
Brought so many questions to mind:
Who were the people buried here?
Whom did they sadly leave behind?
 
Were they rich or were they poor?
Was their life easy or hard?
Was it pestilence, age, or violence
That brought them here to sleep in this yard?
 
My glance fell upon a simple stone.
I couldn't help but think that maybe
Some people's lives had been torn apart;
Carved in the gravestone was one word: Baby.
 
Oh, Life and Death, you keep us wondering.
No matter how much we people yearn
To second-guess you, you surprise us
And deliver us to the grave or urn.

- by Bob B