In the light of the day
there are no numbers
the moss hides the shadow
across the silver laden stones
Searching as the sun streams
alighting lines across the way
flitters dust like fairies
in the shadows of the graves
Brushing away the florets
of the silver tinged moss
lies the Beloved Mother
whose place is no longer lost
Closing away the mystery
of a namesakes pictural
beloved Great-great grandmother
no longer a forgotten marker