Her beseeching face contrite,
a fallen angel gazes heavenward
amidst chipped wings and rusted iron lace.
Decorations for the departed crumble
in a tangle of dog rose blooms
swaying in the autumn breeze.
Carving names for themselves,
the ancestors' toppled headstones
lie broken -- haphazard within
the terraced hillside's daisied avenues.
Remnants of remembrance in mottled marble
mock the stability of success.
In spirited upheaval,
a tree thrusts through concrete.
The earth cracks a grave smile,
amused by mere Man's vanity --
his monumental insignificance.
When Death itself is dead,
Life will still go on
somewhere.
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