Grave Digger Poem by Lawerence Mize, Sr.

He took a short rest
at the head of the grave.
The mound of dirt
was starting to fade.
The sweat on his brow
rolled hot down his face.
The sun overhead
told him it was getting late.
The grave needed tending.
There was still much to do.
Finish the fill, sprinkle the seed,
set the marker to.
The work never ends.
Though the dead are at rest.
The digger worked on.
He gave it his best.
Heavenly Gardens
never looked so good.
A tranquil cemetery
for the living to view.
The families would come
to pay their respects.
Bring flowers and tokens.
Pause to rest.
The digger would watch
as they moved through the grounds.
Talking and praying.
Making mumbling sounds.
He kept a safe distance
between the living and dead.
Continued his work.
He knew there was nothing to be said.