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Beside the Graves
beside the graves we speak
of new-born children
loudly, laughing where the dead
are deaf the living
clutching them in realms
too gross to hear them
heavy-hearted in warm spring
flowering gay brilliance
black limousines wind slowly
with their grave mourners past the
dark pines piled with
fresh flowers flowers
for life for transience for
beauty to tell of
the dead's latency
as living we walk pushing