Calvary Color Shots

From fields where glory does not stay and

Early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose...

And round that early laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead

And find unwirthered on it's curls

The garland ...AE Housman

The Grave is but a covered bridge,

Leading from Light to Light

Through a brief DarknessI can not see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness guess each sweet scent Art is long and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts though stout and brave,

Still like muffled drums are beating

Funeral marches to the grave