The tranquil winds murmur
beneath the church steeples,
bending grass blades in grief,
over gardens of people,
Each furrow's well-tended,
irrigated with tears,
Every plot's marked by stones,
With the names and the years,
Here lies: Daisy and Rose,
There's: Poppy and Mum,
Near a Jack-In-The-Pulpit,
now resting his tongue,
Her lies: Babies-Breath, wilted,
and nearby Sweet William,
Oh, how Holly and Heather's cheeks
once glowed Vermillion,
Black-eyed Susan, and Violet,
Alfalfa and Hazel,
Olive and Myrtle,
Timothy and Sweet Basil,
Belledonna and Lily,
Marguerite and dear Iris,
Near a Wandering Jew,
who was felled by a virus,
Here's: Veronica, Ginger,
Pepper and Jasmine,
Over Solomon's Seal,
Bleeding Heart's mourn what has been,
Here Wormwood surrounds
each Old-Man-In-The-Spring,
Bugleweeds blow out taps,
Birds-Of-Paradise sing,
Walk softly frail mortals,
with your Bittersweet thoughts,
Where Bluebells toll silent,
over Forget-Me-Nots,
For whatever men plant
in the depths of Earth's womb,
God will soon resurrect,
and again they may bloom,
Thus the winds murmur softly,
beneath the church steeples,
Over harvests forthcoming,
In the Gardens Of People.
