Here they sit for a short while.
Lost in their own endless mind’s trail.
And beneath the seat and dirt;
The past lies turned away from hurt.

Patches trodden hard and soft,
Deeds undone and words now lost.
In the past they rest for none to see
Unaware they sit, of life’s tragedy.

Being so stuck in mind,
Ignorant of passing time.
What would they find if they dug this ground?
But just the over whelming, silencing sound.

They no longer sit, one by one.
All are taken, every one.
To pass another day,
While joined in grave,
To rest among the clay,
To turn their face away.

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