Many years ago, I volunteered to be the caretaker at a small cemetery near a church in the country.  It was done in part in pity because I saw how run down the place was. It had suffered the same fate as many cemeteries in the USA whose communities had fallen on hard times – the only flowers were wild, thorns were as numerous as the ivy, and many of the stones were leaning or falling. It was situated on a hill, around a corner, and had a lovely view of the valley.  It sported a forlorn and wild beauty.