‘Jewel In A Garden Of Memories’
© Joe Canning 2017. All Rights Reserved.
In the valley the city sleeps.
It is a cold Derry morning.
All is still on the hillside.
Quiet is the peaceful garden.
The golden morning sun rises
Rays dance on a hovering mist
Stones greet the cold light; and
Shadows lengthen with the rising
In the vale a misty blanket hovers
Through it the pointed spire peeps.
There in a garden of memories
A green field is frosted in beads of white.
Watching is an ancient inhabitant.
Gone is her fancy coat that once covered.
A hundred crooked arms reach outward;
Twisted by time but fighting, still standing.
The winding path shines, bottle like.
Glinting in the beam of morning; waiting
To welcome the loved ones of loved ones.
The perfume of flowers will scent the Derry air.
The old sentry will observe their every move.
Her old roots will tell the others they are there
She will welcome others too, alas
They will not see her sculptured beauty.
The old crow will caw in her arthritic branches
She will watch as another day passes into night;
Greet another mist, another spire, another dawn.
With twisted limbs and crooked branches.
Photograph by kind courtesy of Paul Millar, Derry city cemetery.