I couldn't come to visit you, br After we followed up behind you, br And the four men carrying; br They really had no right to. br br Some difficult path that was, wasn't it, br Putting you into box, then leaving you, br Lowered under turf? br I thought my gaunt expression then, br Would sink like turf should. Put away, br Forget; the buried soil, the rot. br br And yet, it still catches me occasionally, br When I think of the last complete picture br Before this. I cannot go back br At you sticking up, erect; refusing death. br br I will think some allusive thought, br That you are up and about walking br The mass of graves late at night, br Refusing to sink. br br How do I handle your still fresh grave br And settle you to sleep in my heart? br I cannot bare coming back with you br Running rampant through my veins. br There is no relief in putting your face br Away in boxes where I do not cease to see br You reminding me constant; br As every beat, you add a murmur too. br br When I have trouble finding your mark, br Your precise spot, I will visit again br Your plot that set you out from every stone, br Is ground, just land that settles down br And makes it right. br Everyone the same, today, and br Tomorrow's light.