The Busiest Day

It’s the busiest day in the graveyard.
A day of gifts and snow
All the people full from feasting
swing on by to say hello.

They remember all their loved ones
so deep beneath the earth
with holly wreaths and icy breath
this day of saviour's birth.

I watch them from my corner
and nod as they pass by.
They read the headstone that I touch
and ask it who am I.

“What was that girl to him?” they ask.,
“what truth did they once know?”
The cold boy and his long dead girl
So deep beneath the snow.

We nod again as they walk back
to warm within their home
those hands that briefly touched a pain
that’s easier left alone.

I’ll see them here next year again
Upon that next Noel
and if they come another day
I’ll see them then as well.

© Ken Armstrong 2011

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