Urbem Mortis Poem by Patti Masterman

I like how the sanitary graveyard,
Hides the fertile rot beneath;
Above though it be pleasant, quiet-
What is that strange brown peat?

There beautiful flowers bloom aground,
Though in truth, they're mostly plastic;
And the odd weeds, upon the mound-
They're growing something drastic?

Some people come to see the graves,
Can't find their way around;
If they've no time to search, the knaves
Should not profane hallowed ground.

I love the tombstones standing still,
As though waiting for forever;
And how the lawns are kept so green-
But no, if you please- don't till.

I like it till the sun goes down,
And then I like some other place;
It's better not to hang around;
Some of them might know my face.