.
One One Seven Three Four Seven Six,
numbers written on little wood sticks,
markers on the graves of lower cost,
in the cemetery of the lost.

War, poverty, famine and disease
fill up the plots with apparent ease,
interred underneath the disposessed,
paupers, orphans, all neatly addressed.

Lives tabulated after living,
filed by the devout unforgiving,
so many pass with no claim to fame,
nobody ever remembers their names.

The poor have their final place to rest.
In Loving Memory, death undressed.


© Pagan Paul (26/08/20)