Memorial Day

It puzzles me to see the stooping people
Bottling emotions in a vase of flowers,
The hurrying housewife and the stolid farmer,
The banker and the clerk, these friends of ours

All paying a respectful annual visit
To relatives tucked snugly underground
Who have no choice but entertain the callers
And hold the wilting blossoms on their mound.

There is no sign of welcome or refusal,
We set against each stone its sweet bouquet,
And satisfied at last with the arrangements
Solemnly start our cars and drive away.