The statue’s earnest eyes looked down the sloping hill of the cemetery. We stared at each other, the statue and I, thinking our own thoughts. A breeze blew past us and died, but the chill remained. I shivered under my coat. Reaching a hand out, I touched the stone. It was like ice, so cold. Still, the statue didn’t shiver, didn’t move. Only I could feel the cold winter air. His earnest eyes bore into mine.
The dead will rest, the statue said,
under my tender care;
The dead will sleep, the cold stone mused,
assured this watch I’ll keep.
Tale Told 