A Lonely Stone
Gena Horton

Nested alone in a quiet wood,
Resting quietly the way it should,
Aged by time and wind and rain,
Never to feel anymore pain.
Etched in love by human hands,
Washed away by time’s own sands.
Who is there under that stone?
Who is now eroded to bone?
Was it somebody’s husband, wife, or lover,
Or a brother, sister, father, or mother?
No one knows who lies there.
Now, we simply stop to stare.
A toppled marker lost and alone.
Forgotten names engraved in stone.
A shell of life left safe and sound
In a glade where trees abound,
Witness only to fallen leaves,
Never to ones once bereaved.