Unknown

Upon the hidden tombstone,
A name now lain in moss,
Had one time been a loved one,
Been thought a tragic loss,

He’d walked among the cornfields,
Been hapless in the snow,
He’d felt the winds of ages,
and basked in summer’s glow,

Love had sat beside him,
Picnics in the park,
Whispers to his sweethearts,
Sweet nothing in the dark,

Youth, he’d felt its passion,
A mother’s pride and joy,
In time he’d grown in wisdom,
A man, no more a boy,

His later years brought changes,
A wife and children too,
A happy loving family,
Known by precious few,

In time the Reaper’s scythe came
and cut him as all men,
Lain down with his family,
In the garden of fallen,

Time it ticked by slowly,
an unending constant breath,
The known becoming unknown
with every family death.