Your memorial stone
is in the design of a book,
my son, apt words
have been put,
chiselled into granite,
skilled hands, tools,
keen eye, words set,
meanings and sentiments,
heart felt, soul grieved.

Picked and bought
you a plot up
at the far end;
pretty much quiet,
birds nearby,
a tree a little off
to the side,
not crowded in
as some plots are,
none too near,
not too far.

It will gut me up
to see you there;
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
as the good book says;
watery eyed I’ll stand
and talk and listen,
remembering the old times,
you still too young to go
as dates on the stone will show.

Book memorial stone
as a reminder,
not that reminding
is in need, never forget,
or feel less pain,
that like the memorial stone
will remain.