This brings up a thing I’ve always been conflicted about with graveyards. They are a place of sadness, but they’re also so quiet and peaceful and pretty.
I’m foreseeing conflict with a certain lovesick ‘gator..
Long ago, when I was young (cue Roy Clark) in the 1940s, my father would occasionally take my mother and I on a picnic to the local cemetary. It was/is in Canton, Ohio just beneath the McKinley Monument and was beautiful. Well tended and with small reflecting pools and streams with swans swimming along them.
Even though it was already old it was not a place to be feared. I have pleasant memories of it – unlike Edgar Allan Poe…
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