This spectral world, where few have tread
As Summer days to Autumn pass
In somber shade, reside the dead
The cooling winds, their Requiem Mass.

The names and dates of lifetimes' past
On these stone graves that climb the hill
In cold, damp earth, their bodies cast
As long years pass, in evening's chill.

They calmly sleep in mottled shade
In quiet plots, bereft of joy
Though deep within the ground, they're laid
These chiseled words, time can't destroy.

As night time comes, I'm homeward bound
And slowly pass the granite stones
I hear the night bird's haunting sound
And cold wind's melancholy moans.

Their silent ranks, I'll join someday
Invokes in me a nervous laugh
To think that some may pass this way
And ponder my worn epitaph.