It isn't my fault, really

I did have something in mind, but it hadn't worked its way into a written piece. Then Red commented on my blog about the broken gravestone and suggested there might be a poem there. I thought about it and here is what fell out:

The Stone

I stopped today
For a moment
At the gravestone of a stranger
There was no sentiment to impede me
There was no melancholy to distract me
The ground around
Was well maintained
I looked at the simple stone
It was old
The stone was broken through
And resting against its base
It entreated the questions
Of when it was broken
Of who was negligent
Of when this man was forgotten
It entreated the question
When will I be forgotten
My children will live on
And I through them
And the grandkids
One hundred forty years have passed
Since this man was lain to rest
His children rest somewhere
His grandchildren as well
We are four to five generations
Beyond his passing
No one mends his stone
No one visits
Save a stranger
Passing
Without personal connection
To produce the sentiment
To construct the melancholy
There is sadness
If the stone appreciates it
It doesn’t say

Ron Simpson, Jr.
November 8, 2008