Echoes Fade in Cemetery

Names carved deep, in marble stones, keep memories fast asleep, until loved ones weep. Mementos kept in drawls, photos displayed in halls, precious things hung on walls, oft echo memory recalls. One is living, one is dead. Why not remember a thread, that is ongoing, instead of annual tributes, planned ahead? A grave grows old, neglected in the cold. It keeps the passed on hold, when keepsakes, instead, evolve. Each touch of them, each look, is like reading a book, over again, lest you mistook a detail, or what you forsook. So I leave the cemetery alone, in its seldom visited zone. Instead I focus on being re-shown, the tapestry of echoes hand-sewn.