An open paddock miles from ‘Nowhere’.
A picket fence in disrepair.
Red dirt road winding through low hills.
All around I feel despair.
Old slab hut with timbers crumbling,
sagging roof and rusted tank.
Fence post’s down and wires broken.
Another victim of the bank.
Withered flowers brown and crumbling
lie limp and faded all alone.
I wonder why? And who would leave them?
Brush off the dust..a child’s tombstone.
Roughly carved, not made of marble
just humble sandstone from the creek,
with a name, a date, and ‘ love you’,
all inscribed. The words that seek
to depict a Mothers anguish
and reflect Fathers despair.
How their hearts must have been broken
when they were forced to leave her there.
Brush off the dust and pick fresh flowers.
Wattle, Bottlebrush and Thyme.
Place them gently on the headstone
just as I would if she were mine.
© Maureen Clifford