I see the apparitions
of a million mourning
people
standing here
amongst hundred year old graves
and hundred year old trees

they walk slowly
tears dropping
without ever hitting
the ground

one by one
flowers of every color
are put on grave
after grave
till this bleak
and dusty
graveyard
turns into a beautiful
arrangement of ornamental
and inorganic reminders

as each grave adds to the garden
of paper flowers each ghostly figure
of some mourner past disappears as
in a puff of smoke until all of them
have evaporated into the air and I am
left alone in a dusty graveyard adorned
only with fake blooms and overgrown
weeds

the sun beats down hot on my head
and I sweat as the sun comes level
with my eyes

a little girl toddles up to me
pointing at the petals adorning
a near-by grave

she asks
“are those paper flowers?”

I say yes
and comment
on the beautiful
day

“yes”
she says
“it’s a good day for paper flowers”

and I sat there
silent
watching the sun
set
on a beautiful
place such as
this