In the Graveyard

Here, in the hush where memories lie, Gentle forms of silence strung and thin, Shades slip past with an ironic sigh, Tracing the outline of a life grown dim.

Rustling leaves float down with stories told, Unraveled faiths through a dream-filled sense, Life held lightly still under your hold, Winding to warmth from the days intense.

Yet time has its will, its fleeting grace, Wandering the remnants of hope and strife, And every shadow that shivers in place, Fills in the void left behind by life.

• John Crowe Ransom