Birthdays at the Cemetary

In the shade of the silver birch
Where the birds greet with drawn out reply
We return. Yielding grief as though only
Yesterday the scattering of soil Echoed below.

Dew tipped, the blades shine our shoes
Mornings sun, lies low not yet ready to reach out
The chill bears testament to the position
A family at the grave of a birthday boy.

Despite your passing we fight to assure the
Letters of your name, rampant weeds
Concealing the history of our line.

In the foreground bearded with green time
Cracked slabs wilt with age-
Like vacant buildings in a disaster movie.
Stone crosses, ivy enshrouding the arms
Nothing but scarecrows of cold grey.

We bring you back to us. Place fresh flowers,
Wipe damp dirt from the stone
Gather crisp curled leaves throwing them
Skywards just to watch them fall,
Not for fun, but for the memory of youth.

There are fathers and sons, mothers and daughters,
Babies, and soldiers, leaders and the losers
Silhouettes of passing, lining the ground.
Visited only by the wind and rain.

Two kisses against the coldness of the stone
And we leave, taking the best parts of you home.