Quiet

Quiet

Silently each headstone told its tale.
Whispered lives lay in line.
Every grain of life a marker
Of a mortal's time.

Some had barely blossomed
Before the angel's clarion blast.
Others flowered, ripened and gently withered.
Time, the same for all, is but an image past.

Not a single soul did tarry
When the reaper came to call.
Now each has made the final journey
To the Almighty's everlasting Hall.