Cemeteries are places for departed souls And bones interred, Or hearts with shattered loves. A woman with lips made warm for laughter Would find grey stones and roving spirits Too chill for living, moving pulses . . . And thou, great spirit, wouldst shiver in thy granite shroud Should idle mirth or empty talk Disturb thy tranquil sleeping. A cemetery is a place for shattered loves And broken hearts . . . Bowed before the crystal chalice of thy soul, I find the multi-colored fragrance of thy mind Has lost itself in Death's transparency. Oh, stir the lucid waters of thy sleep And coin for me a tale Of happy loves and gems and joyous limbs And hearts where love is sweet! A cemetery is a place for broken hearts And silent thought . . . And silence never moves, Nor speaks nor sings. |