Substance
In a cemetery,
Grave markers everywhere.
A lot of strangers,
I do not know.
Who are these people?
What kind of life did they once live?
Were they happy,
Well liked and received?
Now all I see,
Are stones with obscure names on the top.
Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters
Lay to rest at Greenwood.
But really?
Who were these beings?
Has their story,
Ever been told?
Civil war,
Up to the present.
These humans,
Once were ordinary creatures.
Like you and I.
They worked and had families.
What more can we say.
They too, had substance.
Copyright © Leslie Hasty | Year Posted 2021
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