All photos by JA Nilsen unless otherwise
Sunlight shines upon the stones,
A faded verse, a weathered poem.
Your gaze is cast down to the ground,
She lies below, makes not a sound.
The years are carved, you do the math,
You strain to read the epitaph.
Lanes lined with monuments diverse,
Carved with numbers, names, and verse.
Rooms with doors that open not,
No welcome mat, no mail slot.
An angel with her arms held high,
Beseeching to an empty sky.
A sleeping lamb, a little boy,
A photograph, a favorite toy.
Flowers withered dry and old,
Lying by the tombstone cold.
A woman robed stands by a cross,
Silent sentinel of a loss.
You come to visit or to mourn,
A loved one, who from you was torn.
Crosses on the stones give hope
Helping you your loss to cope.
Wandering down the lonely street,
A sleeping city ‘neath your feet.
…..John A Nilsen