Mark Springer Poet Lyric

Woodlawn Cemetery

It was on a ridge of billion-year-old stone, 
Ancient gneiss that held its own.
Forests and farms, the view partly wild
But the terrain rolled gentle and mild.

On one side the Bronx River went to the sea.
At the time, a few mills, but it mostly ran free 
On the other, fierce Spuyten Duyvil 
Sail at the wrong hour and you’d best bring your bible.

Also orchards and estates, a landscape that smiled.
An occasional laugh of a running child.
A cemetery was built there in 1863
A place built for contemplation, for serenity.

I took the Harlem train line, just a few stops
Stepped into 400 acres beyond the franchise shops.

There was the grave of a western lawman, a hunter of buffalo
A rider of plains in the not so long ago.
He was in the "Red River War", I bet you never heard of that
If you claim you did, I'll eat my hat.

There was a rich suffragette who pushed woman's right to vote
There was chief justice of the Supreme Court, many others of note
I recognized names like Irving Berlin, LaGuardia, Robert Moses
Songwriter, mayor, builder; next time bring roses.

I wiped snow off my glasses with a lint free rag.
There was the composer of the tune for "You're a grand old flag"
Woolworth's grave reminded me of his stores, a chain once immense
I once got a sandwich there for 25 cents.

Roy Innis rang a bell; a few other names I knew
at least a phrase about them, a penumbra fading from view.
There was the artist of the poster "Uncle Sam Wants You"
A survivor of the Titanic wrote his searing tale; he lies there too.

There's "Herman Melville" who wrote a story of a white whale
And the obsessed captain who pursued it through tempest and gale.
I walked past clever tree sculptures, mausoleums, and big trees
My stress level went down, but I was not at ease.

I started thinking—something I rarely do—
My thoughts like wild birds suddenly flew.
of those unknown who reach fame by talent and skill
How you can write your story with luck and with will.

There must have been moments of happiness in achievement
We all end in tragedy, all in bereavement.
My life had few highs, a series of blows
A momentary act, an emperor with no clothes.

Does this generation know the people who I vaguely recall?
Ask a young man about the Civil War, he might not know at all.
Ask him about the first World War, that killed ten million men:
His blank stare reminds you; it could happen again.

These thoughts were depressing, but the scene is not stark
With winding roads, and groves, it resembles a park
Carved animals from trees and stone maidens, sun shining on snow,
A weeping beech, a white oak, a white pine add to the show.

I thought "odd way to mix solemn with glad..."
Then I looked at my watch, remembered chores that I had
So I left Woodlawn Cemetery, got back in life's swing.
Intermission over, I'm hoping for the spring.

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Hilda Greenhough March 22, 2026 at 4:21 PM I often have reminiscences too. And it's true that today's young and not so young, know very little about history. Ask one of them, which president was known as Honest Abe, and they won't know, but ask which world leader said We don't need any more lawyers, and they will immediately respond "Castro". I hope education improves.