She oft brought blooms to 'dorn the stone,
Love still lives though stilled the bones,
Kneeling, gnarled, soft prayers she sheds,
Whispered pleas to raise the dead.
A fleshly hand proffered now,
Visage of a handsome brow,
Breath soft blown across her cheek,
Any, all, she'd gladly greet.
Black silence blankets those engraved,
Shrouds so thick a cavalcade
Of angels ought not penetrate,
Blooms released, in tears are vased.
Years ago, not far from here,
Shared these two a life of cheer,
Fancy feelings filled their days,
Not far from here, yet far away.
She lifts a finger to the stone,
Traces there the love she'd known,
Feels how hard that time can make
A gentle kiss or soft embrace.
The gardener happens by, and stops,
Lifts her up, her brow he mops,
His hands seem pierced, she lets grief go,
Head 'gainst his chest, she hears...and knows.