Picnics With The Dead

Peace is hard and scarce to find,

Its found only on the moon,

Queues are long, jobs are few,

Our earth it has no room.

The only places that I know, 

To get a little peace,

Are cemetery's & graveyards,

Which I go to once a week.

I pack my picnic, flask and Tea,

And head off to the silence,

My seat is free as always,

As I sit and eat my lunch.

My Stress's have a breather,

Since my picnics with the dead,

Till the day my seat is occupied,

By another me instead.