It Was Written In Stone

Everything is temporary. The stone is carved and put in place. Mourners come but as time passes their numbers dwindle until visits cease altogether save for genealogists, photographers, idlers and dog walkers. The stones become hosts to lichen; they delaminate; the text erodes; birds crap on them. Do you ever pause to wonder, what is the point? It's just a lucrative section of the funeral industry really. These places reveal tastes and wealth, or the lack of them. They make me melancholy. But still I visit them.

Very thoughtful words. I visit them very often and love them.