MEDITATIONS IN A CHURCHYARD
By Poetic Meditations
Beneath a shady pine I sit alone
Amidst these silent testaments:
Mere names and dates inscribed in stone
Upon these weathered monuments.
No trace of virtue or vice remain,
No sound of laughter left behind,
Beyond the touch of joy or pain,
Upon the flesh the worm has dined.
Hid in earth’s bosom in dreamless rest,
All strife and struggle forever ceased,
No beat of heart to stir the breast,
For from the clay, the soul released.
Only the merry song of robins fill the air,
While in the town below, play children unaware.