A Gravestone

I guess the past never really leaves me
even when I forget about it somehow.
Sadness quietly waits in the wings,
to creep up when I least expect it.

Even when I forget about it somehow,
an old faded dog-eared picture,
or someone else named Peter
brings your loss back to me.

Sadness quietly waits in the wings,
an ancient leathery and dry buzzard
who quietly waits and circles,
knowing it will again bring death.

To creep up when I least expect it,
the anguish must be deep seated.
I find myself in the old cemetery,
the family gathered around in tears.