Roses

This afternoon I hung out alone in a cemetery. Some say odd, I say soothing. I went to visit my grandfathers grave. He was buried in October, I couldn't be there for the service. The gravesite was pretty, the stone was covered in decomposing roses from the service. A little more than two months after, the roses were still there. At first I wondered why no one had some to clean it, I know that sounds absurd but I thought that surely someone who worked for the cemetery would clean things up. But there is no such job, probably no such need. And I realized that no one cared about it. Someone's legacy is not the headstone that reads when they were born and when they died, its in the people they leave behind. Its in what they did while they were here on Earth. My grandpa's body may be in the ground but right now he's in the presence of God Almighty and I'm sure he's loving it. Anyways, I cleaned off the stone, seemed like the right thing to do.

Standing in a cemetery reminds you how brief life really is, how will I make my time count?