I'm alive and well in South Africa. Thank you so much to Michael for keeping Lyrical Sunday alive in my absence.
A Mortal Life
Little hands trace letters etched years before,
Naming those who had gone before.
Laughter echoes across the weathered stones,
markers of those once loved,
By those who can no longer remember.
Arms outstretched, tiptoeing along the edge of the grave,
Young, alive and vibrant, amidst the mourning gray.
Unaware that he will return here once more,
When the letters spell his name
And little hands trace them.