ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

This poem was triggered by a walk through our local cemetery which, like a lot of cemeteries, at one time buried unchristened babies/adults in unconsecrated ground (along with suicide victims), almost like an area of shame. I came across one tiny grave with no markings and well encased within a brier rose...

WHERE RAMBLING ROSES GROW
(c)]Sue Pearce 2015

A tiny mound lies nestled 'neath a rustic wrought iron frame
where roses ramble freely-reaching out as if to claim
the tiny soul who lay interred within a setting borne of "shame"
no cross to say who rests within-no plaque to bear a name.

And who had placed the wrought iron frame embellished by the rose?
perhaps a mother,deep in grief, who'd counted ten small toes
and held a tiny hand with no response-an angel heaven chose,
a mother left to question- Why? the answer...no one knows.

And one can see how come the spring as gentle breezes blow
and petals fall to kiss the ground, a blanket formed below,
enwrapped around the tiny mound to comfort, cherish and bestow
a love that only mothers know-where rambling roses grow.

Goodonya Sue. I was hoping that we could find out the colour of the rose, the design of the frame and the appearance of its patina and maybe what things covered the mound.

I used to walk through the big Rookwood cemetery in Sydney, there were some tales written over some of those graves.

Lots of unknown stories in old cemeteries - which you describe well Sue. I liked the image of a blanket of rose petals.

Heather

Good work Sue ...

Sorry Neville but this poem was never intended to go into such detail. It wrote itself within minutes of coming across the grave-the rose and the way it grew inspired the write.

I agree Heather-very informative places.

Thanks for popping in.

Thanks Mannie

Your words are beautiful - In my mind I saw your little grave-site clearly Sue.

Yes I do too - I've spent many hours walking through cemeteries in the past wondering about the stories behind the headstones, and those of the very young are always extremely sad. Lovely poem Sue.

Lovely piece of writing Sue. I could see your grave very clearly. My parents' house was close to the Balmoral Cemetery in Brisbane and I spent many hours as a boy wandering around looking at the grave sites. Sad that even in death there is so much evidence of social inequality.
Wazza

Only time I spent in the graveyard as a kid was to knick the glass covers off the flowers to use as fish tanks.