Georgia Places: Country Church

Just past these flowers, footsteps
Still and gray upon a morning
Wet with dew, a distant field,
That I, a careworn traveler explore.

One hundred and forty years,
The year my father’s grandfather was born,
And names carved on stone like
A class roll call.

A one, a mother and infant daughter,
Both dead in childbirth, says

“I heard a voice from heaven
saying unto me,
Write,
Blessed are the dead
which die in the Lord
from henceforth:
Even so, saith the Spirit,
that they may rest
from their labors”

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