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
