Graveyards are peaceful places, where one goes to contemplate and remember. Surrounded by anonymous names, people who have left grieving loved ones. Who were they, what did they do, were they happy, did they have full and satisfying lives. A cross section of ages, skewed towards those in their seventies and eighties. I sat and wondered, in front of one grave in particular. It was recent, obvious by the fresh flowers and lack of a headstone. I was wondering what would be his epitaph. Some words etched in a granite or marble block that his family deliberated on at length between their tears. A few words to both describe a life and fill for them the dark void of his departure. Then I noticed where the grass was tinged with a faintly brown circle as though a plant pot had been removed. How sad, one can only wonder why?
"I am not alone a solitary red kite circles overhead,
sky dancer dip and rise, among the suns intermittent rays,
silver crowning it's russet mantles, he seeks the breeze,
pirouetting above this place of special memories,
his sharp eye spots a new rose, far below,
re-established , now resting at my feet,
amongst the verdant hues of Dorcic,
non omnis moriar"
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