Often confusing

Flowers.

Flowers we gift the dead,
Color that fades,
From orange from red.
Seeding the plot of land below,
For years after the barren plow.
Nothing grows, but on graves,
A reminder of life grave.
We stand upon the bones,
Of those before us, these rocks,
Once smiled, and the water once did,
Sing a song, some forgotten mock.
And yet trills the brook so lovely,
And shines the pebbles in watery light,
Of a moon of many faces, a thief,
Stealing light to show its grief.
And more sink down as life grows up,
We forget the roots we walk on.
Death forgotten as it should be for,
Life forgotten should never be.

And when your turn comes, smile,
For many the flowers mayn't be.
But your song and smile,
And your walked miles,
Wile shine forever you see.