Emily Stout May 6, 2013 - 11:17am
One day we leave the city for its limits
To chase long-rested leaves off family graves
And let the children play among the mausoleums.
We are not all farmers anymore—
At first hands fumble with a spade into dark
Beds of pioneers whose stones stare back our name.
Let the lilies go? We are but idle strangers
Let us thin them and find each other