Stones and Names
I look around at the rows of stones. All clearly marked; all uniform. All silent and still; cold and white. Each stone tells a completed life story in five uniform lines. But each stone, each name is unique to its visitor. The dates bear testimony to a life cut short, in the prime of youth. To these stones come weeping fathers, lonely mothers, silent friends. Regular visitors to this garden, they walk mechanically to the stone that bears the name they know. They sit opposite the stone quietly.
