On a white marble headstone
long out of style,
evidence here all alone
of sad family trial.

I feel tears on this ground
as I stand here and wonder.
Hundred two year old tears still around
from brave pioneer folks asunder.

Late summer excitement
turns to fall fear and dread.
Last gasp, tiny fist falls unbent.
Eyes close forever. Their Roy is dead.

I feel that first set of tears.
I hear wail and lament.
But as Thanksgiving nears,
poor Ray too is spent.

On Christmas Day one month later
wind swept, cold, snowy, and bleak,
I see paired raw earth reminders.
Pale dirt swept in parallel peaks.

More tears freeze to the ground
as they place tiny toy on each.
For children and parents
so much is just out of reach.

Spring comes and the headstone arrives.
Family is leaving so they can survive.
Little lamb figure for Roy and Ray.
No other McClaferty’s lie near them today.

One last set of tears
to last through the years.
Young couple and wagon
pulled by strong equine beast
jolt, rustle, and rattle
rolling back to the East.

So I stop here to their honor,
a visitor just passing their way,
imagining the sad life events
of babies, Roy and Ray.
These poems are
tracks marking the
happy meandering path
of ongoing discovery ...

Roy McClaferty               Ray McClaferty   
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