Other Things Found There

I walk among these tombs of old
that vie for my attention
that tell the stories of the dead,
as their ghosts demand recollection.
But other things are found here,
beyond the sorrow and the pain;
I look closely and discover
a quiet beauty does remain;
there are treasures to be found
among the graves of this old garden:
butterflies and fireflies
and memories forgotten;
behind the twisted gnarl of trunk
near the crumbling stone of tomb,
honeysuckles grow
and fill the air with their perfume.
Amid the thistle and the brambles,
a fountain still remains;
the stone is cracked, the well is dry
but it conquers its domain;
an ancient tree where lovers carved
a pledge of love eternal;
sweeping branches with longish arms hid
acts that were nocturnal.
The wind still carries echoes
of children laughing among the grasses;
and here, some antique bottles
that held honey or molasses.
An ancient swing still sways
in a languid, hopeless breeze;
rusted chains and fragile frame
squeak a tune of melancholy.
A ramshackle of a dwelling,
its walls covered thick with vines,
guards this hallowed ground
as it stands the test of time—
The past is but a window
of tomorrows of yesteryear,
these remnants mark a simpler time
before death took those so dear--

And as I walk among these tombs of old
that vie for my attention,
I see other things are found here too
for marvel and revelation;
I step among the graves to pay homage
to those long gone,
while still I note the joy and hope
of tomorrows to come along.