Walk between them
walk among
these rows and rows
of silent stones,
they mark the place
where we came from
forefather's graves
we are their sons

Tipped over stones
fall into ruin
so seldom do
the kinfolk come,
this holy place
too far for some
the pace too slow
for those who run

Yet drawn toward
these silent stones
one still walks
between, among,
the memory of
soon overcomes
what faith they had
now there is none

Oaks shade the path
now overgrown
the squeaky gate
still leaning some,
caw of a crow
the setting sun
a place reserved
our time will come.