Epitaph 2 Poem by Barry Middleton

Frail is the flower of life,
and this I always knew,

when visiting the graveyard
where daffodils once grew.

They say the land endures,
so there we place the dead,

the patriarch at rest,
where feet no longer tread.

A marker cut in stone
reveals a hidden grave,

o'er grown in brush and brier
an epitaph engraved:

All are equal here
as Earth reclaims the land.

The pain and joy of living
are buried with the man.