The Cemetery Walk

The silent stillness mists around my shoulders-

    A tepid quiet echoes all-around

           I see the graves,

        Cloud-gray and silent-cold

Asleep beneath the ground

  So many—

      Slumbering humanity

And I wonder-

     What kind of life this one

          Or that one lived-and did it matter for the eternal? Or only for the distant, time-hushed “now”?

    The mossy stones say nothing; only the stillness speaks, whispers to the soul

I gaze upward-ornate monuments, embellished with angels

     Now christened with dusty soil and silent in the spring air—

“The deeds done in the body . . .”

I wonder-what will my deeds say?

“I am the Resurrection and the Life . . . “

     His life, lived for mine

          His deed of love

               To cover my sin-stained hands—

His tomb, now empty

   Hushes my shame

     And whispers hope.

I walk through the cemetery—

        The phoebe sings sweetly

              Her sunlight song on my shoulder

                 Angels, alive, alive sing glory

           To this one in the place of death, the place of life.