I sit beneath the stone angel, <br />Her face is hard and grey, <br />As she stares upon the rows of the mismatched tombstones, <br />She is the guardian of the cemetery, <br />She watches over the dead, <br />Everything that her stone gaze falls upon, <br />Is filled with awe and respect, <br /> <br />I glace at the surrounding tombstones, <br />Seeing the wreaths and roses people bought, <br />And placed upon the beds of the departed, <br />An offering to God, <br />To show how much the soul was loved, <br />Hoping that He will extend that same love to the deceased, <br />It's a place of quiet and peace, <br />So still, <br />So strange, <br />To know, <br />That beneath the earth, <br />Lie people who will never again share their stories. <br /> <br />I ponder what those stories might be, <br />As I sit beneath the stone angel, <br />And gaze upon the rows of her children, <br />I turn my gaze once again, <br />To her maternal stone face, <br />I begin to write.<br /><br />Catie Belle Stark<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-stone-angel/
