On Christmas morning we visit the marked stones,
The grass, the pots of fresh Paradise Birds,
Magnolias, Christmas trees,
And we visit the names.
We visit the rows on rows of marks;
The marks they left behind, the marks
That mark their singular day of birth,
And death.
We visit all who lie there,
And all who will.
And all who lie in our hearts.
We pay a visit to the day.
But above all,
We pay a visit to reason:
Our end- and our day's mark
Nice little poem masiela dear, it makes u think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How you add meaning to the lives of those who are now gone. This is a very thoughtful poem. And to visit the gravesites on Christmas day is quite sobering. Great poem.