Poetry

The caretaker did not spare the work
and everywhere there are flower beds
that comfort with bright colours
the lawns are neat and cut to perfection
and the granite of each tomb glitters
that the sun falls shining on them,
that people walk around
as if they are maybe in a park
but the idyllic peace
every now and then shattered
when rows of cars draw near,
when coroners carry
a deceased person to the grave,
when crying people want to come to peace.