![pexels-brett-sayles-3620799.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/vincric/23vsLbbhmRVi8DJSsyiNpXuYNa734URaceTTkSF3YE1Nst52mK8nE9g1snCkhkqMfZZ7e.jpg)
<center>[Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/gray-concrete-tomb-3620799/)</center>

<center>How are you I ask as my greeting,
I am fine, I answer, not waiting for your unspoken questions,
I tell tales about how I and other people do,
Our day to day lives, As I look at you,
A gray and beaten old face, upon your name inlaid on stone.</center>

<center>For my every visit not too long or short,
Until I recall your person waiting,
Forgive my laziness, I confess,
Your halted place is convenient to visit,
You will always be here, immobile, </center>

<center>I do ponder, will this truly matter?
You my dear friend have passed on,
I come here to speak to a slab of rock,
Words and numbers inscribed, tell me where you lie,
But below the earth rests, merely a cold pile of bones.</center>

<center>I did not have the same faith you hold to the almighty above,
Nor do I believe in the unseen Heaven where souls go,
I never bother to question what is there beyond,
Life goes on until we fall to death,
Nothing more, nothing less.</center>

<center>Yet a small part of me still seeks,
To come and speak of my days beyond yours,
Perhaps a little of your faith touched me,
Or this shows how much I miss you,
 To make me sentimental enough for me to speak to stone.</center>