Slow Sun and Moon

ACROSS the slow arc of this little bridge
Spanning the narrow garden river walked
My proud ancestors robed in silk and ivory.
Under this pale mimosa tree they talked.
One carved this panel in the Wall of Friends.
One with eager toiling curved the long&lt
And twisting pathway. Here on flowery days
Came the young and old with laughter and song.
Now they are gone. No remnant of their music
Floats upon the quiet air. Alone
I cross the grass and in deep solitude
Gaze upon the gray ancestral stone.
The very names are dimming into dust
On the rain-worn rock, and time will see
My own name losing here, slow sun and moon,
The deep grooves of its ancient charactery.
Sons of my son will lean upon the bridge,
Scan the ancestral stone and say, ‘ Here walked
Our fathers whose proud names are dimmed to dust.
Under this pale mimosa tree they talked.’