This morning as I passed the Church,
my feet dragged me inside;
Regardless of my fixed routine,
for the doors were open wide.
Genuflecting in the quiet,
On low and bended knee,
My wandering mind and fickle feet,
nudged me to the cemetry;
From the gentle quiet darkness,
into a blaze of golden light;
Sun drenched Crosses marking graves,
for souls to take first flight.
A host of ancient trembling trees,
bent low in benediction;
Sprinkling brand new blossoms,
recalled His resurrection.
Petals scattered in the wind,
like blessings sweet and pure;
Living flowerbeds on each grave,
say love will now endure.
This is no place for despair,
No place for helpless grief;
This is a place for healing,
a place for sweet relief.
A place for rememberance,
A place to be at ease;
To connect with happy souls,
under the ancient trees.
And as I feel the breezes blow
and whisper on the air;
My memories surround me,
and mingle with a prayer...
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How beautiful I can picture this scene