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John & Mary
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Cemetery Ridge
Late in the afternoon
Most every summer Sunday
Most every holiday with nothing
Much at all to do
As three o'clock came round
We knew where she'd be found
Sitting in the back seat with her
Wrinkled yellow photographs
Into the car we'd pile, off to the edge of town
It was a cemetery
Sunday drive turned upside down
But times were different then
And she'd remember when
And tell us stories
That we'd both heard many times before
In unmarked graves they say
The children silent lay
The church a haven
For the families come from far away
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Into the car we'd pile, off to the edge of town
It was a cemetery
Sunday drive turned upside down
If only to remember one day
The line of tiny crosses that were washed away
The seasons change their colors
You might wake up accepting things
Are really gone
It's not so strange not to abandon hope
Of finding markings for her first three daughters
And a son
Into the car we'd pile, off to the edge of town
It was a cemetery
Sunday drive turned upside down
Think of the children
(John Lombardo/Mary Ramsey)
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