On Christmas morning we visit the marked stones, <br />The grass, the pots of fresh Paradise Birds, <br />Magnolias, Christmas trees, <br />And we visit the names. <br /> <br />We visit the rows on rows of marks; <br />The marks they left behind, the marks <br />That mark their singular day of birth, <br />And death. <br /> <br />We visit all who lie there, <br />And all who will. <br />And all who lie in our hearts. <br /> <br />We pay a visit to the day. <br />But above all, <br />We pay a visit to reason: <br />Our end- and our day's mark<br /><br />Masiela Lusha<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gravestones/
