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I’ve walked this graveyard; I know you are here,
But I can’t find a headstone or a cross.
And you can’t give a sign when I am near,
So maybe I’ll just take two coins and toss
Them high, and where they land there’ll be no moss-
Encrusted stone – just a bare patch of earth
That I’ll call yours, and it will mark our loss.
Of grander monuments there is no dearth,
But their inscriptions are of little worth.
The elements erode each written word;
Time blurs the name, the date of death, and birth.
I never knew you. Of your life I’d heard.
My father learned the truth, but much too late.
I came to find you – sorry for the wait.

{In memory of Felix Thomas O’Brien – drover, 1895 – 1963}

{Photo of Gayndah Cemetery by Ruth P}