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A Portfolio of Photographs 
from Southern Cemeteries

Jan Kapoor

August, 2000



A precious one from us has gone,
A voice we loved is stilled;
A place is vacant in our home,
Which never can be filled.
God in His wisdom has recalled
The boon his love had given,
And though the body slumbers here,
The soul is safe in Heaven.



Click on small images to see a larger version

Though lost to sight, to memory dear.

Fair Stranger
whose feet have wandered
to this land of silence,
contemplate this stone.
Near it is interred Dust
which once a lovely Form
inhabited by a Mind
superior in Intelligence,
worth and Amiableness
to most of her sex.

Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine
Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers,
Calm as on a windless eve the sun's decline,
Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,
Rich as the rainbow with its hues of light,
Pure as the moonlight of an autumn night;
Weep not for her!




The songs I had are withered
Or vanished clean,
Yet there are bright tracks
Where I have been,

And there grow flowers
For others' delight.
Think well, O singer,
Soon comes night.

Ivor Gurney



Squander for me no scent of myrrh
Spread no myrtle on my tomb
Kindle me no burning pyre
What's the use of such waste

My dust will turn to clay & mire
For all your purple, flowing wine
Give the living their desire
Dead men have no taste.


Send comments, questions and remarks to: jkapoor@jankapoor.net
Copyright Jan Kapoor.  All rights reserved.