The Cemetery

Like monasteries of old, you, lie perched on a hillside near the village You are mysterious, somber & silent yet there are no huge carved Wooden doors flung open wide to welcome weary travelers, And you offer no bowl of soup made from scraps garnered by begging friars Your guests have no need of nourishment, only rest I walk among your grey marble stones to find names of neighbors, friends and family I long to talk with them, see them, touch them To share precious memories You give me only cold statistics born, died, father, child & wife I cry in agony You saints in this holy hospice Can you not join me in a prayer, a hymn or a final plea One day I shall accept your hospitality For I too will be in need of rest I shall enter the open grave like your soundless monks Understand the mystery perpetrate the somberness maintains the silence