Death's Memories


Death's memories are graves,
Nor can they pass away;
Nature, in every hillock, saves
A green plot o'er decay;
And daisies like to clumps of snow,
Go each spring season there to blow.


Death's memories are graves, —
The all that Nature granted, —
Where the tall mallow waves,
And the small flower blooms, self planted,
Where Mother's sleep and babes lie still,
And sunshine rests upon the hill.


Death's memories on tombs,
Keep fragments of decay,
Like wrecks of lumber rooms,
Which Time throws out o' the way
If common weeds were not to come,
The graves would lie without a bloom!
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