White crosses alongside the road
honoring the memory of the recently slain.
How did it come that these people died
here—what were they like, while they still lived?
Cars and trucks speed past obliviously,
ignoring the ghosts of the freshly passed.
Each one of us hopes that we’ll still be remembered;
long after we’re gone to the other side.
But what if no one
visited us or mourned?
Left us for dead,
our faces forever forgotten in time.
What must it be like to have a memorial,
all painted and white,
with flowers and trinkets,
alongside a road where no one ever stops?
Chuck Connors, January 1, 2010