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Silent Tombs

The tombs don’t talk

I can still hear stories

The tombs are silent

They still listen

Laying on the snow, looking

around seeing rows and rows of gray stone

Each having something to say

I stare at them, wanting to know what they would be doing now

if they were alive

I walk around reading the dates

shocked at the long lives

sad for the short ones

As you walk home you can't help but wonder what your stone will say



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