by Jo Whitelaw

The grass is lush on the downward face yet I’m careful where I tread,
for a thousand souls rest in this place.
This island’s final bed.

I progress through ancient stones and feel the kiss of ocean spray.
I see words erased by time and tears
of nature’s own decay.

No stately shrines nor looming crypts pervade this resting place.
The gentle style of life reflected
in simplicity and grace.

Today I saw the local folk with spades and mournful eye,
as they set their loved ones down to rest –
Some traditions must not die.

The famous and the infamous, the convict and mutineer.
The exulted or the executed ~
All are welcome here.

• Norfolk Island