I received a letter at work, when I never had before;
The writer knew me, but not I of he, but still he did implore:
To: My Dear Friend, Grave Yard Rabbit ‘neath the sculptured foxglove hedge;
Care Of the Township Cemet’ry outside the City’s edge.
G.Y., I need your insight, he wrote, and your expertise to lobby;
A full investigation as how someone could lose a body!
With GPS and camera, his grave I came to find;
His obit states he’s in here, (but I think I’ve lost my mind!)!
The Town Clerk shook her head and said, “Sorry, he’s not around;”
She has no record for him — or anywhere in town!
I think, perhaps, he has no stone, but with some decency;
They still had to put him *somewhere,* out of health and courtesy.
But the problem is: they know not where, their minds have drawn a blank;
Like an empty sheet of paper (not worth a hint to thank.).
I hope on one of your hop-abouts, perhaps you might remember:
A quiet, little funeral on a crisp and cool November?
No siblings came to mourn him, they died long before he;
No wife or bern exist – in bachelorhood he chose to be.
No friends had come to gather, attendance was the least;
Just a team of undertakers, and the local township priest.
But, that was 50+ years ago, and the trail ~ alas ~ is cold;
Known but to you and God above, this case is just too old.
So, I ask, dear friend, next time you jaunt across your graveyard green;
And see my late relation, please mention that I have been —
To check on him, and see and tend to all his upkeep care;
If only I could find him in his peaceful rest out there.
originally published in the GraveYard Rabbit Online Journal