The dead

 The dead


The dead cannot bury their dead

For they only have us to look after

Their graves and headstones

That give witness to a life once lived. 


A life then filled with laughter

Of tears of joy and sadness too

Of passed exams and jobs accepted 

High achievements and low disasters. 


Nothing in this life has any meaning

If we cannot celebrate the lives

Of those who ploughed before us

And made the furrow that we follow. 


Plough ahead, our sacred duty

To make our mark and leave our trace 

To have used our measured time

To make the world a better place. 


There is no book better than a cemetery 

For all the stories lie beneath the stones

That keep their secrets and their sorrows

And their hopes for better morrows. 


Sleep soundly family, sleep soundly on

Til perhaps we meet again

In the meantime we will stand guard

By your headstone in your memory. 

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