ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

TIMELESS … Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet
There’s a worn weathered stone statue that overlooks the park
from its viewpoint up upon a grassy knoll.
There are withered floribundas past their best now that’s for sure
that still stand resplendent in a red glass bowl,
and a bunch of fresh white lilies seem to have been placed with care
on the white stones scattered round the statues feet.
All are honouring the memory of the loved one buried there,
keeping contact till the time when they will meet.

She was only seventeen it seems when God called her back home
‘a beloved daughter’ - no time for farewell
as it seems her life was taken by an accident of sorts
when her horse had stumbled and Eliza fell.
Now one hundred years have passed since that sad fateful day
and her family I know have left this town
so I wondered who it was who had placed flowers with such care,
‘twas a mystery worthy of tracking down.

And whilst I sat quiet, wondering about life’s mysteries
a shadow on the stairs had caught my eye
and I watched a lady slowly make her way up to the grave
where a young lass rests beneath an azure sky.
She wore a shawl quite stunning made of red and gold brocade
and a silver antique locket round her throat
and in one hand she grasped a perfect floribunda rose
and in her other hand she bore a note.

Not wanting to intrude I merely sat and watched as she
replaced the old dead roses with the fresh
and saw her pull a weed or two and cast them to one side
and brushed the scattered soil from off her dress.
She tucked the note beneath the red glass bowl I saw with care
then blew a kiss and turned and walked away
and once she’d disappeared from sight, I rose to take a look
at the note, for I wondered what it would say.

We never met Eliza – but I know we would be friends
and we share the same name, strange as that might seem.
My mother was your sister and she named me after you
and she always held your memory in esteem.
I promised Mum that I would not forget to bring you flowers
and the floribunda roses here today
are from the bushes planted near the old homesteads back door …
I transplanted them when family moved away.

And I’m leaving you this note today in case I don’t come back
for my race is nearly run I think my dear.
Perhaps the next time that we meet it might be up above
that’s a journey all must face. It holds no fear.
This silver locket that I wear, yes it was indeed yours,
I am leaving to a child as yet unborn
who will my daughter tells me be called Eliza too
ensuring that our story carries on.

Well my breath caught in my throat, I felt a tear rise in my eye
as I read the words I had no right to read.
Such love had spanned the centuries, so selfless, good and kind,
though doubtless love had fuelled a greater need.
I made a vow right then and there to check the grave each week
to see if flowers had been placed in the bowl;
if not then I would bring some, keep the old promise alive
to the stone statue upon the grassy knoll.

That's quite beautiful Maureen. I opened the homework post intending to write something for the first time in months. Instead I'm just going to sit back and read your story a few more times.
Wazza

Yes, this is certainly a lovely, moving story Maureen - think I'll do the same as Wazza!

Thank you both - pleased you found something to like in it

I agree with the others - a very touching poem Maureen

Terry

Thanks everyone and I am delighted that Trisha and Wazza changed their mind and had a go at the prompts themselves and did a darn good job of it as well.

A very descriptive, moving poem Maureen. It paints a touching picture.
Trish

A touching and beautiful story, Maureen.

My husband's great-grandfather Christian Tostensen Hansen was one of the early Danish settlers at a district in the hinterland of Hervey Bay which they named Aalborg after their home province in Denmark. He came to Hervey Bay in the 1860s as a married man and died in the 1920s. Recently we were wandering through the historic Aalborg cemetery where he is buried - and there on his grave was a new ornament inscribed with the words "C.T. Hansen - always remembered". It was written in marker pen in quite modern handwriting.

We have no idea who put it there, as there are very few direct descendants and we doubt there would be any family alive today who would remember him. Perhaps we will never know.

Cheers, Shelley

Oooh spooky stuff Shelley - are you going to investigate? Another great grandchild perhaps? Or was he perhaps a benefactor and remembered for a bequest or good deed? Did he save a life and become enshrined in another families history? There's got to be a poem in that Shelley

Mmm - now you have me thinking

I'd love to investigate but have no idea where to start. It could have been anyone from anywhere and we don't even know any Hansen relatives any more. My husband was an only child, his father was an only child, and his father was one of only three sons of Christian Tostensen Hansen.

There would be descendants of the other two sons but who, where - we have no idea now. There are none around this district as the other two sons of Christian left this area in the early 1900s.

Fascinating stuff!

Shelley