You will be remembered

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    I saw one epitaph for a lady now gone a hundred a years, promising, “you will be remembered.” I wondered about that. Looking up from her headstone, eyes find no reason to stop short of the distant mountain range. The intervening expanse is filled only with the sound of unhurried wind gently rattling a bit of a chain somewhere in the cemetery. It seems more a place of forgetting than remembering.

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