The Cemetery at Forest Hills

Between the rails and thoroughfare,
Ignored by life and human care,
The visible voice of their despair,
Strangers in life, in death now share,
The earth beneath the weeds.

A tiny plot of hallowed ground,
Marked by refuse all around,
The trash of streets and tracks inbound,
The silent stones emit the sound
Of screams that no one heeds.

Long forgotten by friends or kin,
This place of rest that's pushed within
The confines of the city's rim
Now suffers for its only sin;
Being in the way.

Do we see our father's lives so useless?
Disdain their peace for love of progress?
Hold human life to be so worthless?
Then cry for the aged and the ageless.
Plow them under to plant new seeds.

But if you do then dare not turn
Upon our youth with grave concern,
And wonder why they don't return
Respect for us we think we earn.
We've taught them,"Throw the old away."

  N. F. Biron  1982