They sit in their little rows
With all the proper care.
Visited by only crows
And those who do despair.
All of them are made of stone,
Some are new, some are old.
All the little men of bone
With their whole life stories told.
Sitting throughout all times
In this ever peaceful place.
And all of their little lines
Cared for by old man Chase.
Little people made of bone,
Resting in gardens of stone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem.Thank you.