Joy A. Bowman
THE MOVING WALL
Silence, tears, a loss of family or friend,
Names that seem to go on, and never end.
This beautiful sight is called: The Moving Wall,
The name is so perfect, because it moves one and all.
Not alphabetical order, or city or state,
Just a number and a row, at the top of the slate.
The name you are looking for is sadly found,
And there in front of you, a wreath upon the ground.
There’s flowers and cards, and pictures of old,
And letters that were written and never told.
Crosses that marked the name of those,
Whom God hasn’t forgotten, that also were chose.
The Moving Wall will travel on, for everyone to see.
But I will never forget what it meant to me.
©Copyright 1994 by Joy A. Bowman