Mama was laid
Underneath the red flowers
Where gentle wind blows
Overlooking the green mountains
With stories untold
.
Headstones
Hold stories untold
Of
Hearts lifted
And hearts broken
Of
Simplicity
And sophistication
Of pride
And shame
Of regret
Of freedom
And bondage too
.
They hold more
Than meets the eye
Headstones hold stories
Of
Men and women of honor.
Susan McMillan
Rhythm In Life 
I love walking through cemeteries. That may seem a bit strange, but I love it for all the words you used here. Untold stories of that person and their life here on this earth. It sends my mind wandering through all the possibilities.
I am scared of cemeteries even though I know it’s silly. Many of my loved ones lay there. I often wonder though what their stories truly were but yet I know that God is sovereign. He knows.💝
“Headstones
Hold stories untold”
Eloquent. Potent. Excruciatingly true.
Thank you very much Miss Kitsy🙏🙏
A little teary eyed after reading. I took my precious Mama every week to Memorial Park, where Papa is laid to rest. Now she lies beside him, and I go regularly to put flowers. 💐💜💐💜
Hugs 💝
Beautiful!!
Thank you Anuradha 💝
I admire the way its written 🙂
Truly beautiful.
Thank you very much🙏🙏🙏
so many stories!
Yes indeed.
How old was your mother when she died? I know,you were very little.
Mama was 25 when she passed.
Oh my goodness. Life cut so short.
Yes it was. My little sister was only 6 months old. I am thankful that she carried me in her womb and gave me a gift of a mother’s love and touch for those few years.
beautiful ❤ she'd be so proud of you her daughter who is so good at writing. xoxox
You are very kind. Thank you again and again. It’s my readers that inspire me to keep writing. Simply giving life to words within. Thank you for your support on. I am very greatful 🙏🙏🙏
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