A family of stones, strewn,
where people place flowers, pray.
Doesn't anybody know
that those souls have flown away.
Souls twinkle in the twilight . . .
all smiling while they hover
watching over those they loved.
Bones, alone, dwell in clover.
Names are etched, engraved, on rocks
but their mem'ries dwell within.
Why pay homage to bodies
when their loving never ends?
Close your eyes . . .
hear them sigh
angels are
close, nearby.
Both of the engraver's hands
are calloused and bloody, sore,
as he carved information
of those folks whom we adored.
It is unnecessary--
monuments don't show we care.
Love flourishes inside hearts
and it always will be there.
Roll the pictures in your head
and you'll see mem'ries reviewed.
While you're looking at pictures . . .
let love put you 'in the mood'.
Close your eyes . . .
treasure them
angels dwell
deep within.