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The living
come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the
hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But
never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones
and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So
sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help
marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to
come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would
be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to
die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think
they would believe the lie.
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