In A Disused Graveyard
The living come with grassy tread To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say: "The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay." So sure of death the marbles rhyme, Yet can't help marking all the time How no one dead will seem to come. What is it men are shrinking from? It would be easy to be clever And tell the stones: Men hate to die And have stopped dying now forever. I think they would believe the lie.
I pulled up to wander the Center Shaftsbury Cemetery at dusk and captured the last shimmer of a rainbow above.
From the “State of VermontMarble Trail“, our cemetery is described as containing “some superb examples of 18th century marble gravestones. The marble for these gravestones came from Shaftsbury’s West Mountain quarry which was also known as the White Marble Quarry.”
Some of the oldest dates that I notice are from 1771, 1785, 1791…many throughout the 1800s and 1900s to present day.
Our cemetery is maintained by a crew from the town year round. I would really like to try to graze my sheep here someday. I think it’d be a win-win for the taxpayers and for our flock.
Above we have Hurricane Sandy bidding adieu to the Southshire.
I noticed the slim-profiled headstones have longevity.
I’m the picture of health, so no worries here. I’ve often told my family that when I die, I hope to be cremated, for a few reasons, and that I want them to sprinkle my ashes over a hayfield up north that I’ve always admired. But I’m thinking that it’s rather a garden right here in this town I’ve lived in for the past 24 years.
Oh, what was Mr. Frost trying to tell us?