an old writer and his words

You lie there, perfectly still,the morning breeze slides awayleaving the sun to stare down,and the birds fall into silence.  I gently touch the stone, feelyour cheek beneath my finger,see your face, the college yearbookphoto all that I have of you.  I speak silently to you, tellingof my sixty-seven years, of yourgrandsons and great grandchildrenand I…