The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
I visit graveyards regularly and what a brilliant poem this is. I go there to keep family graves and headstones clean. It is so true that 'Men hate to die'. Life is too much fun. I would love to live forever, one of the human race 'who have stopped dying now forever'. Is it a lie?