Children of the Dead

The skulls are lying calm

Plants rising from their sockets

Bees circling their foreheads

Each forming a God-like halo.

The skulls are lying calm

On the soft grass beds

Reeds brushing their noses

With the wind’s soft gush.

The skulls are lying calm

Not alone and filled with life.

I come there in the evening,

To water the children of the dead