Even though he will have
his ashes scattered in
the dunes along the
shores of Lake Michigan,
he loves to wander
cemeteries and, in the
stillness of the day, away
from the sound of traffic,
find older and older grave-
sites, smaller and smaller
headstones – whiter and
whiter with etched words
fading with age, reminding
all visitors of the ever
advancing age of those
in the ground below.
When he moved from
Illinois, Iowa, Michigan,
New York City (for three
months in 1967) to Ken-
tucky for seventeen years,
he found himself in seven
generations of graveyard
heaven – old, old, old to
seven headstones old with
barely legible names and
dates but with the Kentucky
Bluegrass trimmed ever
so neatly around each
stone respecting the one
day anonymous person-
age residing below the
stone. There is such dignity
in the quiet respect of
Kentucky Bluegrass
neatly trimmed around
a headstone of someone
who once occupied space
where the mower now
stands.
bobdahl 
Oh, this is one of the best. I, too, have always found great comfort in cemeteries … many a sad story on some headstones, with a child’s or infant’s brief life noted in the dash between dates much too close, for comfort. Nonetheless, the whispered encouragement of the dead: “We did it, and so will you.” Anyway, I loved this piece with it’s neatly clipped grass – some final respect for those who did it. Thanks …