Behind the Gates
Behind the gates, the markers stand,
all in a row facing East of the land.
Many a grave from a date in time,
words are written, about a heart so kind.
Some have angels, and some praying hands,
helping generations to come, understand.
Walking among them, in the quite of eve,
fresh flowers placed in remembrance,
by a visitor before me.
Much can be learned from the writings in stone,
behind the gates of rest, where their memories
will never be gone.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007
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