The tombstone is worn and beaten
winters spent
braving the wind and chill
summers of
heat and exhaustion

A stone is a stone
strong and stable
kick it and you'll break your foot
paper scissors etcetera
fact, it stands regardless

Name etched into
faded and confusing
beloved mother and wife
died young
what's her name though

Flowers line the grass
roses, lilies, a single sunflower
someone cares still
a relative or maybe a stranger
does it really matter

The graves around her
broken and left to disintegrate
their names are unrecognizable
no one remembers then anymore
I shall name them myself

I've built a family for myself
with the graves of those who've gone
uncles and aunts, cousins and sisters
I take what they give me
their treasures mine to keep

I've made a career out of this
a job for the sinners
though not a real sinner
I pray for them as I dig
Pray for their way to heaven

My hammer beats down on her stone
bit by bit falls to the ground
her grave is still wet
easy to dig
the sunflower is all that remains