Home Is So Sad

/ They sit in planned rows, the homes

With nothing to mark them as so

Except the numbers and the names

The occasional photo

/ And slowly fading souvenirs,

Unopened envelopes, there

A jar of wilting flowers here.

Perhaps a teddy bear

/ Left behind by those who cared.

The missing lives are charted

In these few objects, these few words:

'Here lies ... dearly departed.'

The End

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