How are you I ask as my greeting, I am fine, I answer, not waiting for your unspoken questions, I tell tales about how I and other people do, Our day to day lives, As I look at you, A gray and beaten old face, upon your name inlaid on stone.
For my every visit not too long or short, Until I recall your person waiting, Forgive my laziness, I confess, Your halted place is convenient to visit, You will always be here, immobile,
I do ponder, will this truly matter? You my dear friend have passed on, I come here to speak to a slab of rock, Words and numbers inscribed, tell me where you lie, But below the earth rests, merely a cold pile of bones.
I did not have the same faith you hold to the almighty above, Nor do I believe in the unseen Heaven where souls go, I never bother to question what is there beyond, Life goes on until we fall to death, Nothing more, nothing less.
Yet a small part of me still seeks, To come and speak of my days beyond yours, Perhaps a little of your faith touched me, Or this shows how much I miss you, To make me sentimental enough for me to speak to stone.