Ancient pine trees, straight and tall,
Defying storm and wintry blast,
Stand guard inside the crumbling wall
Our keepsake of the past.

The hoary stones with letters faint
Speak of sturdy pioneers --
Good and bad, sinner and saint,
Sleep on the same down through the years.

The morning sun can enter not
The pine trees lofty barricade,
The twilight of this hallowed plot
Is kept in dreaming quiet shade.

But when its course is nearly run
The leaves that hold it back all day
Give entrance that the dying sun
May clothe the earth in gold array.

And shimmering sun light clear and sweet
Bathes mossy stone and wooded dell —
A golden moment rare and fleet
Before the day's farewell.

[Virginia Cassedy, wife of Comdr. Hiram
Cassedy, U.S.S. Tigrove, felt inspired by
the beauty of the sunset to write this poem.]