All My Children
written by: Michael R. Burch
It is May now, gentle May,
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon the blousy flowers
of this backyard cemet’ry,
upon my children as they sleep.
Oh, there is Hank in the daisies now,
with a mound of earth for a pillow;
his face as harsh as his monument,
but his voice as soft as the wind through the willows.
And there is Meg beside the spring
that sings her endless sleep.
Though it’s often said of stiller waters,
sometimes quicksilver streams run deep.
And there is Frankie, little Frankie,
tucked in safe at last,
a child who weakened and died too soon,
but whose heart was always steadfast.
And there is Mary by the bushes
where she hid so well,
her face as dark as their berries,
yet her eyes far darker still.
And Andy . . . there is Andy,
sleeping in the clover,
a child who never saw the sun
so soon his life was over.
And Em’ly, oh my Em’ly!,
the prettiest of all . . .
now she’s put aside her dreams
of beaus kind, dark and tall
for dreams dreamed not at all.
It is May now, gentle May,
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon this backyard garden,
on the graves of all my children . . .
God, keep them safe until
I join them, as I will.
God, guard their tender dust
until I meet them, as I must.
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