I cycle past you every day
sometimes stopping to reflect
on your sad ruin and neglect
before continuing on my way.
Now neither flowers nor wreaths
are laid upon your weathered stones
in memory of those who lie beneath
world-forgotten, abandoned so long
to the elements and rampant weeds.
Oh, lonely tomb beside the road
is it only I who rides past each day
that can hear your melancholy call
a call which haunts and seems to say
“Life means nothing, nothing at all”?