The Old Cemetery at Meekatharra-

The Old Cemetery Mekatharra.

A few old graves; we almost weep
For the forgotten here who lie
In their oblivion: which doth keep
Their earth-born memories and we sigh.

The common lot of millions, dead
As the wide wild drought-stricken bush,
The weird lone landscape far outspread
Death doth appealing voices hush.

The open gate forbids not here,
The fence posts tottering, others lie
Or hang on bended wises anear,
Rusting in drear neglect—and why?

Tis sad to see these friendless graves
And think of those who lie therein
Their mute appeal some tribute craves
For love which in the past had been.

There’s sadness in the silent thought,
Deeper than fleeting grief has known;
The remnants rude neglect has wrought
Of those in life beloved and gone.

A picket fence yet marks a grave
Of someones hopeful darling child
Within it two wreaths remnants crave
Some sympathy for love that toiled.

A broken cross of marble, white.
Forgotten, seems silently forlorn,
A good man’s grave here is in sight,
Claimed not forgot by friends who mourn.

Death claimed two in the prime of life,
Thereon recorded on the stones,
And others nameless, mother, wife,
Only the night wind these bemoan.

Say? can this little graveyard be
Forgot by all who pass it by?
Tis where the stranger too may see
Those lonely tombs and inly sigh.

Soon like a flash, the thought is gone
Into oblivion, sacred, not;
Neglected graves where weeds alone
Will ever grow on this small plot.

Two lonely tombstones in the wild.
Appeal; forlorn on this sad plot,
Only the sunbeams on them smile
Ask, ”are we now remembered not?”

His love deserted this sad spot:
The love which sacred duty craves:
The few; the new by men forgot.
Now mould’ring among the wreck of graves

by J E L