By Lydia Baeza

Going home,
Cannot help but see
The resting place,
Where loved ones lie.

Beckoning, “Come, pass by me.”  

Walking in the cemetery, treading softly over
       grass and chiseled stones.
My heart is full,
      amid painful memories and voices from my past.

The wind blows gently, towards the vast sheltering tree.
   Swaying leaves and branches.
   The sun crisp rays
   Drying up yesterdays as they lay outstretched.

Your words reached me:
“Say a prayer for all of us
Who lay here, facing up,
Looking at the sky,
Asking God to be the seeing eye for many,
As they pass by..

I am asleep at last.
My earthly duty done.
Life was hard, I kid you not.
And in return, I left it a better place.

I pray that life will be kinder
To my sons and daughters.
For hard work went into forming them.
The result, I will not see, only God
As the years slip away.

So, stop for a moment, as you pass by me.
For today I am here,
   As I will be the next day and the next.
Watching,.knowing,
That daily, in this resting place, someone will join me as time goes by.

For we have a bond, you and I.
Together, someday, we will watch for others to pass us by.