Carved in Stone

When e’re we fly, my man and me,To countries near or o’er the sea,We find the old cem-e-ter-ies,And take a stroll through history.
For neatly 'scribed in work so fineOr faded now in blurry linesWe read of lives, meek or sublime,Upon the headstones, lost in time.
The saddest are the children gone,Those lives stopped short from living on,Who made no choices, right or wrong,Called from embraces firm and strong.
With careful steps we move along,And find some words inscribed with song,A life well-lived and days so long,With courage and with faith so strong.
This one, it seems, had loved to fish,That one’s flirtatious, quite the dish,A third thought horses so delish,The best friends anyone could wish.
Here’s a discerning, bookish man,The next one’s hard to understand,I see the words ‘The Best’ and ‘Land’,Oh, there’s the Grandpa of the clan.
A hunter sure, was this man’s claim,A vixen’s carved beside his name,Each one unique, and none the same,Some unknown and some with fame.
Each tells of life or life-to-be,And written there for all to see.So when I’m gone, an absentee,What will someone say ‘bout me?