Angels of Stone

I was walking through a cemetery
late one cold and windy afternoon
pondering on the distended egos
that demand such cold monuments to their doom
For here and there in brittle splendor
stood granite angels on little plots of land
oft times portraying more truth in their lines
than was in the deceased o'er whom they stand

Then off to one side I found a small grave
bordered round by a white picket fence
gold and red leaves lay thick on the mound
like a beautiful wreath Heaven sent
No angel of stone watched over this bed
though a child lay deep ‘neath the sod
a child who lived just three years on earth
before being called home to God

This child's parents were surely quite poor
for the marker was made of wood
but the love and pain in the epitaph
made me weep as before it I stood
The words were simple, neither gilded nor scrolled
though the sentiment was warm and clear
these words will tug at my heart forever,
“Step softly, for a dream lies here.”