Just Passing Through
The cold wind blows,
across silent graves,
the writings tell a story,
of their documented days.
Visitors can read,
their history in time,
some a full life,
while others, little time.
A place of quietness,
a place of peace,
each headstone,
facing East.
Loved ones gone,
from earths judgmental eye,
just passing through,
then we die..
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2008
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