As We Walk Among the Graves

Mornings,
we walk among the graves,
up hills and down.
I read the stones, glean the stories buried there.
A child, born and died, 2 days old.
Her mother gone, too.
Beloved father and mother,
pictures frozen on the stone,
as if they look the same today.
One young man, mother’s son,
died in war,
before he lived his life.

Mornings,
I count the years of the beloveds
as we walk among the graves.
I reckon those whose lives I now outlive,
some by many years.
I drift off, recounting my own life:
who was I, then?
The time has passed away,
and so quickly.

Mornings,
I am sad as we walk among the graves.
I look into the sky, beautiful.
I see the city in the distance,
all that life booming and moving,
all those moments of importance,
passing too –
quickly.

Mary Elyn Bahlert
10/2020

3 thoughts on “As We Walk Among the Graves”

  1. Hi, Mary Elyn, I so much love this poem and also your Uncle Johnny story! Thanks for the beauty and poignancy of your blog posts. It’s very touching to read the history of your family and your own stirrings of ministering. Lots of opportunity for reflection in these viral and unsettling times. Hope you and Jeff are safe and well. Love, Phyllis

    Like

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