The Marker White
The sun illuminates your face; the shine is perfectly clear.
No dirt nor dust or spec of debris is anywhere near here.
As my fingers glide across your name deeply engraved,
The flood again washes over me as I recall all you gave!
The cleansing flood spills down the front of surface white and pure,
Washing every inch of stone my tears pour and pour.
I know as I lie next to your final resting place,
I am not alone in pain, there’s thousands of other graves!
It saddens me for their loved ones, for losses over decades of years.
I am made aware why the markers are so spotless,
The tombstones are washed by tears.