Stones
Cycle ride with clouds moving broken and dark, rain threatening
On reserve vapors ran out of gas by a town graveyard
Found a pencil and sharpened it on old stone
Walked on grass border of stone markers
Times of birth and of death
Family plots seem to tell tales of past lives
Felt the passing in cracks of gravestone and thunder
Amazed at how the years touch and wear the hard surfaces
A 1945 death, a sentinel of stone 63 years at attention
Standing guard appeared ancient
Even rock wears the touch of nature in time
Sat on stones of granite, placed with care and cemented into a wall
Which handsome and honorable fronts the Deerfield cemetery
Thunderclap and light rain as maple tree standing in spring attire
Slows drops and gives semblance of shelter
Past weeks gusty gestations blew strong and bits and pieces of flower
In haphazard arrangement dotted the lawn
Detached and free but now without set purpose
Lost from their places by lone stones
Gathered some and gave them order in bouquet
Found old grave site stone holding a child of three and placed them there carefully
Light sprinkles in a dry month are not enough to help thirsty grass
Found a bandage but not the size to patch the wound
A packet of plant food but not enough to make love grow
But the fortunate find of a marking tool, a gift from the gods
For one man under a maple by the graves on an old stone wall
Found he didn’t need gas, for there was lead in his pencil
© Captain Ken Pothier