The Cemetery Gates.
It’s 9am in the morning and the cemetery gates open. Another busy week starts new graves have been chosen.Peter Abraham.
The wrought iron gates riddled with rust are pushed open into life not long now before they become dust. The quietness of the graveyard fills the open air. Waiting widows cry tears of despair.
Gravediggers dig graves six foot by two not only reopens but some new for two. Marble slabs glisten in the winter sun a young lad looks on he misses his mum. The crisp winter wind whistles around the stone angels as another funeral approaches one more coffin to add to the ever growing cemetery tables.
The chapel primed for it’s first visitors of the day a grieving mother should not be there not ever not today! The minister waits patiently to receive the funeral party an undertaker ushers them inside to get proceedings started.
Half an hour later the service all done. Off out into the cold for the committal to be completed, around an empty grave the mourners will be seated. As the coffin is lowered and dirt thrown onto the lid the pall bearers bow their heads they have done their final bid.
The grave is covered and the body laid to rest. Flowers put on top grave diggers depart and onto the next. The day is now done the cemetery gates close. Tomorrow is a new day the gates will open again and will eventually gently close.