The Old Tomstone
Here is a poem I wrote inspired by tombstones that I have seen, in old cemeteries. I find it sometimes restful to walk among the stones in these old places, reading the names and wondering what their lives were like?! Sometimes it makes me sad to think of folks forgotten, with no one to come and put flowers on their graves or spend a little time remembering them. Still, I find these places a refuge of peace and quiet from life's hustle and bustle, and as I walk I remember with joy that I have put my trust in Jesus, and look to that day when heaven is my home. My hope is not in a spot in the ground, with a stone to mark my place, but a new and living way, that reunites me with believers and loved ones, and where I will see my Lord face to face. Oh Happy Day!
Can you believe how that tree is just consuming the stones!
The Old Tombstone
In the old graveyard stands a tombstone,
worn and battered with the years.
No more, come those who knew him,
to bring flowers or shed tears.
Stalwart it has stood through summers,
and the winters chilling storm.
Graven words are now moss covered,
on its crumbling granite form.
Tilted over now it’s falling,
slowly down to earthly rest.
All is green and stained and broken,
as by time it’s repossessed.
Who is this that lies foregathered,
no one now recalls his name.
Was he just a simple farmer,
or a statesman of some fame.
Did he die just as a stripling,
it is anybodies guess.
Or was this a fallen soldier,
in a war of ugliness.
No one knows or has the answers,
who is in this lonely grave.
They don’t care if he was noble,
or a soldier proud and brave.
So in thoughtful contemplation,
as I stood gazing at the past.
I was saddened by the knowledge,
on this earth, that nothing lasts.
Soon forgotten is our laughter,
no more smiles, no more tears.
Just a worn and weathered tombstone,
marks the time of passing years.
We like grass soon fade and wither,
tho our stones may last awhile.
All too soon no one remembers,
ought of our sorrows or our smile.
✟
But with joyful hope in Jesus,
I look up to heavens home.
worn and battered with the years.
No more, come those who knew him,
to bring flowers or shed tears.
Stalwart it has stood through summers,
and the winters chilling storm.
Graven words are now moss covered,
on its crumbling granite form.
Tilted over now it’s falling,
slowly down to earthly rest.
All is green and stained and broken,
as by time it’s repossessed.
Who is this that lies foregathered,
no one now recalls his name.
Was he just a simple farmer,
or a statesman of some fame.
Did he die just as a stripling,
it is anybodies guess.
Or was this a fallen soldier,
in a war of ugliness.
No one knows or has the answers,
who is in this lonely grave.
They don’t care if he was noble,
or a soldier proud and brave.
So in thoughtful contemplation,
as I stood gazing at the past.
I was saddened by the knowledge,
on this earth, that nothing lasts.
Soon forgotten is our laughter,
no more smiles, no more tears.
Just a worn and weathered tombstone,
marks the time of passing years.
We like grass soon fade and wither,
tho our stones may last awhile.
All too soon no one remembers,
ought of our sorrows or our smile.
✟
But with joyful hope in Jesus,
I look up to heavens home.
And not the sadness of a graveyard,
nor a tombstone all alone.
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