I find wandering through small, old cemeteries strangely relaxing. Even at dusk. Even at night.
You do too?
And you search to find the oldest headstone?
Uh-huh.
Who were all these people? Lying here below ground with nothing but a short inscription to mark their lives… and a weathered headstone reaching out through time to tap my attention.
Hey there! I lived. Here I am.
A tag in stone. Graffiti from the otherworld.
Who were all these people?
And where are all the others?
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Part of the epitaph* on the tomb of Edward, the Black Prince:
“Who so thou be that passes by,
Where these corpse entombed lie:
Understand what I shall say
As at this time speak I may.
Such as thou art, so once was me,
As I am now, such shalt thou be.
I little thought on the hour of death
So long as I enjoyed breath.
Great riches here did I possess
Whereof I made great nobleness.
I had gold, silver, wardrobes and great treasure, horses, houses, land.
But now a poor caitiff am I,
Deep in the ground lo here I lie.
* a word or two changed for ryhme…
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