In the Kensal Green cemetary
I sat down and wept
over the graves both kept and unkept
Fresh earth
Bunches of artificial flowers like bright
Easter eggs drew us in
to read plaques dedicated to loved ones
"gone to sleep"
watched over by statues of the madonna
and little garden gnomes
Song birds
Vines engulf crooked stones,
mausoleums and baby angels
slowly being reclaimed by the earth
obliterating permanence
in an ironic overturning
of why they were there in the first place
Mown grass
Like piano keys the white stones
mark the places of young men
who died a long way from home
believing in something
that had little to do with them
All that life.
- London, April 2009
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