This one is particularly poignant though as it is less than two feet in length; it is the final resting place of a newborn babe.
The sarcophogal stone appears to be freshly strewn with the tears of that immemorial mother and her grief remains as keen as the east wind.
Surrounding it is an intense stillness and even the bird song seems muted and reverential.
To ease this infants journey through time the ancient masons cut the living rock with cunning as well as sorrow.
It faces the rising sun and each morning this crib of stone is bathed with the first silver light of day, as though the babe is enfolded within the arms of its mother once again.
Even after these long millennia it is an eloquent reminder of the beautifully cruel ephemeral transience of our time here.
As Larkin said; truly what remains of us is love.
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Photo: Childs grave at Saladaviciosa. Courtesy of the author.
