Here on your grave as evening falls,
Sunk ‘mid the turf and daisies,
Within these roofless abbey walls,
I read a husband’s praises,
Of you to whom in life he showed
So little love and kindness,
But on your gravestone overflowed
In vain remorse for blindness.
Not for his pain my eyes are wet,
But for your lot so bitter.
What is to me his weak regret?
His silence had been fitter.
(Oscar Fay Adams)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Praise Poems, Compassion PoemsBased on Keywords: gravestone