The whole world is a monument to death:
Water plants hold the place of the drowned,
The tree roots those dying trapped in place,
While clouds mark the souls of the newly dead,
And the stars, their numberless acts of grace.
In the center of the planet lies molten ore:
The emotion of all who've been bereaved-
And sometimes bursts from the bowels of earth,
Issuing when the volcano breathes;
And still the stones stand, remembering.
On restless days, the wind moans their names
And dolorous mountains repeat the same.
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-the-stones-stand-remembering/
