"Secrets of the dead."

by Sue - Copyright2007.

In the cemetery he lies

grass grows above his bones,

birds still fly overhead

snails nestle amid the stones.

Their cottage was nearby

(its covered by a car park now)

where once they laid their heads

concrete pillows rest instead.

In ancient parish records

their names can still be read,

but this is the electric age

which tells the secrets of the dead.

The internet can whisper

words they'd never understand,

webs were made by spiders

in that former distant land.

They knew pain and sorrow

pleasure joy and tears,

worried for tomorrow

trod the lane of fears.

Through the modern shopping mall

cries of sorrow and of pain:

oh dear the parking meter's running,

M25 is blocked again.

Oh my goodness what a drama

the Christmas crush has come

Waitrose is so crowded

and its only just begun.

Yet back in the graveyard

wild flowers bravely grow,

yellow heads wave in pride

and bow to those below.

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