Such Graves Are Far From Here

No new story this week, since I've been ill on and off, but here's an older poem I tidied up.

Near the city are giant graves,

where angels stand watch over bought lines of etching.

Here lies he and there lies she. Here lie healers, there lie heroes.

King or queen of all and sundry, great and beloved--

with rotted selves far hidden under pretty stones and carvings.

 

Such graves are far from here.

 

Here lies Felix. I did not know him.

But among these hundred and somescore dead, his is the only name I found.

Born crying. Loved by who loved him, if any.

Died old and withered and carrying a basket of grain.

Know his name, and put his face to these many rows of unmarked stones.

You stand on hallowed ground, where Felix lies--

great and beloved, as are we all.

Author's Note

Pretty old but tear it apart if you like, just know I'm too sneezy to care at the moment!