Pillars of white stone stand silent
Black marble with lettering in gold
This is where we go to live
Once we have been called to the fold
Tall statues of appealing angels
Stand guard over script so very old
Eroding names once chipped sharply
Now tremble after centuries in the cold
Generations of families now gather
Beneath stately tablets that bear their name
Images of a young face
Gaze bleakly from a corner frame
I laid my wreaths of holly and red berries
For the sake of those that I still adore
If only there could have been some time
To share another Christmas and much more