Poem by Masiela Lusha
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,
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
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