The stones are no longer upright.
They bowed to the passing time
while the wind sucked their lives
from the upset ground beneath.
The doves and crows come and go,
defying the gravity of death,
hovering over vain graves,
looking for their next meal.
The visitors make their way
through the fierce unpaved grass,
cautious not to step on one
nor to fall into another.
The caretaker spends their days
taking care of the careless,
knowing he cannot change
the destinies he keeps.
The dead are eager to rest.
If god orders them to sleep
under the weight of bent backs,
so be it.