THE TOMBSTONE

I stood at the tombstone and wondered,

                        just who would be buried beneath,

           A baby? a child? or a parent? 

                    the epitaph was hard to read,

           So I cleaned it off and removed the moss 

                  and studied the words of grief,

           I lifted my camera and prepared to take 

                 a photograph for recording,

    What sort of a person could evoke such words

                   that spoke  of love and loss.?

  Who had carved the tombstone those years ago?

             it seemed there was no one left!

         For in this small grave a family lay

              from Grandma to baby John,

       With mother and sisters were laid to rest,

                  the victims of influenza.

          And father was buried just beside,

                he drowned in the river while racing  

     for help for his family,   which never arrived!

              but just in time for the burying!

   The tombstone stands alone and forlorn,

                 forgotten except for dead flowers,

  With a hand written note still attached 

          "In memory of Great Great Grandma"

   So who carved the words?

                 One child lived to return

     to place o'er his family the tombstone,

            For it ends with the words

                   "Carved by Bill, your boy, 

        with my love to the rest of my family

 I know what you planned for my life from my birth,, 

      I would proudly farm like my father,

    But I was taken away in the city to stay,

          the land it was taken from me

     So a stonemason I became so I could

              carve this memorial for you"  

     Now if it wasn't for Carol and people like her

     who go out with their cameras recording,

      Many stories like this

               would pass into the abyss of time

                         and be long forgotten,

       So this site is dedicated not only to those

   who go with camera and note book recording,

     But the people who carved their history hard

        on the headstones of granite and marble,

   And on the sandstone soft and the wooden cross

     and the markers that show of their passing,

        We record with ease in our family trees,

        because of those who do this work for us.

Bleggy © May 2005