Stones on a gravestone.
On a bright September day.
Visitors come and go.
Leaving messages –
tapped out in Morse code.
Rattling out their alphabets
of dots and dashes,
with umpteen variations.
And the three circles
of the trinity, symbols of eternity.
Of the great continuum,
that happens long long after.
Never still, never silent.
Always present, always there
like the stones on a gravestone.

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