Garden of High Crosses

There’s a garden of High Crosses
beneath ragged robin and bog cotton
Where crawling scrub decides
Who’s to be remembered or forgotten

Yet purple bells of the heather
Ring out to magpies a sweet surrender
As the lone marsh marigold stands
In silent prayer to remember


No more lament for the losses
No more golden tears will fall
Only the wild flowers of the garden
and the silent  prayer of the marigold