Grave Times Poem by Alc Harris

Travelling down, Western Parade
With a hundred onlookers
Who don’t know her name
They circle
And through the faded glass stare
Vultures admire, her dirty gold hair.
Flowers of fresh, new spring bloom
Plucked from the garden
A lifetime too soon
Before the sun began to rise
And heads of spectacular grace realised.
Powdered cheeks
Glass bead eyes
Wearing the Sunday dress she despised
A fitting tribute
He says with a smirk...

Ill take you to that awful place
Up on the hill
The one you hate
And bury you deep beneath the earth
For that is all that you were worth