Neat
As
The
Proverbial
Pin,
Green
Grass
Hiding
The
Souls
Within,
Buried
Whole,
Grown
Old,
Or
In
What
The
Wars
Left
To
Be
Interred
By
The
Bereft.
A
Sad
Place
To
Rest
For
Those
Who
In
Life
Did
Their
Best,
Answered
The
Call
And
Gave
Their
All.
I place
My
Flowers
And
Read
Again
Lines
Chiseled
In
Stone,
Whisper
Fond
Words
That
Will
Not
Be
Heard
And
Turn
Away
Feeling
Very
Much
Alone,
Silently
Grieve
And
Leave.
Nothing
To
Be
Done.
Death
Has
Won,
And
My
Love
Is
Gone.
Must
Carry
On
Until
In
An
As
Yet
Unnumbered
Year,
I join
Him
Here.