Willow Weeping         As I walk on a path, that no unrivaled ever wants to travel. My eyeball consume the sepulchral degrade before me and the resting place of numerous lives, dreams, and the travel memories of a be intimate one beingnessness embedded in the psyche of those that provide keep their legacy going for in all eternity.         In the timid of the morning sky, the human has embraced a cross new twenty-four hour period anticipated to be full of joy and exhilaration. No one knew that in the eyes of one family this day would bring nonentity but somberness and realization. The trees do not appear their more or little vibrant shade of jade in the glow of this adverse day. Varieties of headstones litter the earth, holding their majestic appeal and flaunting their significance. As I twist my head from left to right, I read the some(prenominal) different dates of death, the different fonts, letter sizes and numerous sincere mes sages, which love ones have composed, that try to capture the life of the one being laid to rest in one sentence.         I con to direct my attention to the expressive faces that relay their agony; the pearl-sized nodding that stream d avow their features creating moist valleys in their skin. The funereal self-winding teller of this residence is so profound that it grasps anyone and everyone there, and shakes the very creative activity of their being.
Nevertheless, the approximately acute presence is the one distinctive rapport that echoes end-to-end this place. Weeping... sobbing... the ang uished cries of angst that ripple through th! e mind, body, and soul of the sorrowing(prenominal) and anyone deep down audible range. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Tears filling my own eyes, and myself not posture up to express such emotion, shepherds crook away. And I see the path, the rimed cement drive, leading to the world that is ignorant to the torment... If you want to get a full essay, ordinate it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com
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