The dead die twice, once when they leave their bodies forever
And twice when time eats away every memory left of them.
Buried beneath a headstone that grows weeds and shadows
That creep over decaying flowers laid in respect.
Dirt that trickles in every bone and break in marrow
For worms and bugs to make their home,
And for families to breed and for plants to grow,
Until time eats away the bone and the marrow.
Soft winds clear the dust and dirt off headstones but
In time harsh winds chip and crack the stone,
And in an age past all that will be left of the dead
Will be the memory kept in those soon to die.
