In a grove of trees on a hill up high
Circled by a fence all flaked and dry
A place of death with many members
A place of death that no one remembers

The locale is forgotten no one to care
No one to visit no memories to share
Choked with weeds overgrown with grass
A home for shadows very easy to pass

The dwellers are here laid out in straight lines
At one time clean now covered with vines
Cracked stone markers showing each place
A name and a date carved into each face

The seasons have come the wind has blown
The rain has fallen the trees have grown
The world has continued its breakneck pace
But here Time has stopped it’s died in this place

In decades past a family gathered round
A loved one given to this sacred ground
But now it is lonely each wakening dawn
None of them left the family all gone

This place is not far it’s just down the way
Thousands of people go past it each day
Within fifty feet on a ribbon of black
The world passes by without looking back