There’s humanity in graveyards
Beneath the cold headstones.
Where now a shattered corpse is laid,
The scattered dust of bones,
A man once laughed, a woman cried,
A child once played in joy.
And each white pine coffin holds
Some mother’s girl or boy.

There’s humanity in graveyards
Where now the ivy clings.
Some were merely friends of yours,
But some did wondrous things.
Some were loved, but some were not,
And some did things for others.
And there lie fathers laid to rest,
And there lie sons and brothers.

There’s humanity in graveyards
Which people shun at night,
And some were good, and some were bad,
And some were just “all right.”
They all did things that others did;
They all were people too.
And someday we will shun the yard
In which your friends placed you.