A Flowering

I happened upon a cemetery,

Ran past graves grave faced,

noticed who was remembered,

and who was forgotten in their place.

Fresh flowers marked some,

others had wilted,

or had none.

Stubborn ones grew their own.

Roses stemmed ‘round stones,

from bodies decomposed to bones.

Vibrant petals labeled a love of life.

Thorns recording that nothing

good came around, without strife.