The Ring of Life

Long after the branch is gone
Smooth worn the chiseled stone
Under a tree of life a song
Ringing round that heavenly throne

One of my favorite "haunts" is old cemeteries. The contrast with the granite and grass. The old cedars that cut into the wrought iron fences. The ornate and overdone stones of the forgotten wealthy. The humbly simple stones of the remembered meek.
When I was young, it was a place of fear, a place of spooks, to be avoided. The older I grow, it seems more a welcoming place, like old friends, many of whom reside there.
I stroll from stone to stone and ponder the lives lying beneath me. I often wish that we could chisel more of our lives upon the stones, something of who we were, what we held dear, how we died, how we lived.
But 'tis all a mystery, like death itself. We all know that one day we shall come to this place, yet
like little children, we feign dwelling with the spooks.