The Garden Of People!

The tranquil winds murmur beneath the church steeples,
bending grass blades in grief over gardens of people.

Each furrow's well-tended, irrigated with tears
every plot marked by stones, with the name and the years.

Here lies: Daisy, and Rose, and Poppy, and Mum,
near a Jack-In-The-Pulpit, Now resting His tongue.

Here lies: Babies Breath wilted, and nearby Sweet William,
Oh, how Holly, and Heather's cheeks once glowed Vermillion.

Black-eyed Susan, and Violet, Alfalfa, and Hazel,
Olive, and Myrtle, Timothy, and Sweet Basil.

Belladonna, and Lily, Marguerite, and dear Iris,
Near a Wandering Jew who was felled by a virus.

Here's Veronica, Ginger, Sweet Pepper, and Jasmine,
over Solomon's Seal, Bleeding Hearts mourn what has been.

Here Wormwood surrounds each Old-Man-In-The-Spring,
Bugleweeds blow out taps, Birds-Of-Paradise sing.

Walk softly dear mortals, with your Bittersweet thoughts,
where Bluebells toll silent, over Forget-Me-Nots.

For whatever men plant in the depths of Earth's womb,
God will soon resurrect, and again they may bloom.

Thus the winds murmur gently beneath the church steeples,
over harvests forthcoming in the gardens of people.

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