Who's Femur Is That?

Who's femur is that
     Protruding from the cemetery sand
The only marker left
     The hoar of some unknown man
I ponder...
     Was it ever in his plan
To be expired in such a way
     Disjointed from rib and hand

Could all his mourners sit in the kirk
     Were many forced to stand
Did the preacher praise his era
     Or skip to the psalm again
Had the procession need of the caisson
     Was there a military band
As for one shipped home with honors
     From some foreign land

What fate befell his widow
     How long their generational span
And did his mates toast his passing
     With a round of black and tan
The moniker on the nearby stones
     Might indicate his clan
Wait, round comes a hound who scoops it up
     He's playing fetch with Pan