THEY’RE SCANNING ALL THE MARBLE ROWS
LIKE THEY’RE OUT SHOPPING FOR BREAD
RATHER THAN TRAIPSING ON THE SACRED GROUND
ACROSS THE ASHES OF THE DEAD.
THEY COO AT BEAR SHAPED FLORAL GIFTS
SAY HOW TRAGIC IT IS
WHILST DISCUSSING WHAT THEY’LL HAVE FOR LUNCH
AND IGNORING THE KIDS.
“OH LOOK, HERE’S 1921!”
THE OLDEST ONE DECREES
THE YOUNGEST SCARED OF WHAT GOES ON
IS HIDING MONGST THE TREES.
THE ADULTS BREAK OPEN A FLASK
AND START TO SIP SOME TEA
HOW TIRING THIS ENDLESS TASK
OF GRAVE VULTURES MUST BE.