A part of the cemetery
And every gravestone reads
Beloved brother, child, wife
Because it is the same as mine
I stop at a grave
No relative, just a common name
My forebears died another place
This family died, one by one
The baby, the brother, the wife
Til only father was left to mourn
To place a flower or a stone
For fifty years til the time arrived
For him as well to come home
Plague Series #33
and the dverse prompt of 6/9/20: the dead back to life.
These graves are in a cemetery in Urbana IL and are how I found out about the 1918 pandemic flu, which I had never been taught about in school or anywhere else.