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The Grave Visitor One pair of prints always walk in
They find their normal stone
They halt by grave of nearest kin
Then exit all alone
The snow blows down these winter days
Those prints always return
None else come to visit this maze
Of stone and cross and urn
Among saint and sinner walk those feet
In eternal reality grounded
They walk where heaven and earth do meet
Where bodies remain impounded
But alone they walk in our dark thought
Alone, but never absent
The steps grow feeble, corpses rot
A life of prayers is spent
Now tracks are gone, a new grave formed
Right near that one so marked
By years of tears through sun and storm
By love that burned and sparked
Those feet are gone, but now I go
I walk to that new mound
I pray those prayers in rain and snow
For my mother: feet now crowned.
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