Their way is lost,
Their way not found.
Their bodies washed,
With tears profound.
Their days are done,
Their ways are bound.
On the gravel slab.
Where names are found.
In hearts and earth,
They now lie.
Their bed of wood,
One block of ply.
Drifting between bones and skin,
Oblivious to the sorrow of kin.
Eternal affection of time they crave,
With people far, beyond their grave.

