Columbia lie sleeping as I walked alone
up to the hill that overlooked the town
where tombstones tilted, lost and overgrown,
among forgotten flowers, dry and brown.
I wandered, reading epitaphs of old,
histories etched vaguely in the stone
of miners now surrounded by their gold
that death had finally given them to own.
I met the ghosts that lived in ages past,
soldiers, spinsters, people bold and wise,
but suddenly my gaze was drawn at last
to one small mound that brought tears to my eyes.
Inscribed, "Here lies Nathaniel, cherished son--
born in 1849, died in sixty-one.

I knelt beside that grave and cried with grief
not felt in any heart for a hundred years
for a boy of twelve and a life so very brief.
Time was no great hindrance to my tears.
For as I walked away I saw a field
where once a boy in overalls would run.
I passed a schoolhouse, boarded up and sealed
where once, impatiently, his math was done.
I wade cross a stream where fish were caught
and picnic lunches eaten in the shade
on days when Santa Ana winds blew hot
and carefree hooky with his friends was played.
Then his young soul left this world behind
only to live immortal in my mind. 



by Lisa (Teel) Rodriguez
1983