At The Cemetery



The dead below, the living above

We dance our dance and then we die

The sun is shining on the stones

With messages of hope and joy.


The baby sleeps within her crib

We come each year with flowers

She’s always young while we grow old

We dance around our tears.


And earth is turning, turning slow

A never-changing dance

Of marigolds that glow and die

Beneath the lonely stars.


Michael Warren


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