There Is Peace. Poem by Terry Collett

There is peace around your grave,
my son, except when the wind
blows or birds sing.

We often stand to stare
at the words on the gravestone there,
trying to make sense
of the senseless, to give
a purpose to what seems
purposeless, to draw
some sense of peace
from the quietness
at your grave.

There are times when it seems
you are not there, not lying
beneath the ground and stones,
but elsewhere beyond my sight
or senses' hold, or standing
at my side in spirit's sphere
at peace unlike me standing here.