Mar 30
sticks and stones
along with graveyard bones
the dead speak for themselves
where lonely rows
hold their souls
no rest for the weary or the dead
packed in red clay
much the same
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
in a simple box
of pine that rots
hinges held yet set to rust
no names or dates
to mark the graves
memories are all that's left
lost generations
not of their own making
the dead are best when secrets are kept
along with graveyard bones
the dead speak for themselves
where lonely rows
hold their souls
no rest for the weary or the dead
packed in red clay
much the same
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
in a simple box
of pine that rots
hinges held yet set to rust
no names or dates
to mark the graves
memories are all that's left
lost generations
not of their own making
the dead are best when secrets are kept
Driving on the back roads of North Carolina years ago we came across a huge graveyard in a red clay field with rows and rows of stones as head markers, that site and sight never seem to leave my mind
