Yesterday, I walked through the grave yard looking for something. Searching. Wondering what the purpose of life is. I looked at the inscriptions of different graves as I passed them. Some died young, others were old, but no matter the age, they are all dead, and I wonder to myself, what did they do during their life? Did they do something great? Was there a purpose to their life? Is there a purpose to mine? Then I saw it. A small grave stone, inscripted, and looking the same as the others. It was seemingly insignificant, but, as with all the others, I asked the same question. "What did you do? Was simple life at all important?" I sighed deeply, and looked about me. Here I was in a world of yesterdays searching for the answer to today. I looked back down at the grave stone. It didn't have any great words on it, and it wasn't a grave for some great person, but what little it said was enough.

Louis Ballat

A Newsie

Always and Forever

1884 -1902

~*~