THE GRAVE OF GRANNY GREER

One bunch of flowers in the cemetery
Amid all the graves covered in snow,
They looked so lovely sitting there,
For they brightened up the winter so.

We stopped the car and gazed in awe
For the snow was pure virgin white.
No footprints marred the perfect snow,
Yet the flowers were fresh and bright.

Each bloom seemed very delicate,
The perfume filled the winter air.
Who could have gone to the grave?
Which person went and put them there?

We stopped at the village store
To buy a few things for the road.
We mentioned the fragrant flowers,
Then a wondrous story did unfold.

Sit for awhile and I’ll tell you
The tale of old granny Greer.
She lived by the cemetery gate
And she tended it year after year.

She lived all alone in her cottage.
Her garden pure joy to behold,
For it was always covered in flowers,
Coloured blue, crimson and gold.

Everyday she went to the cemetery
Weeding and trimming the graves.
Then placing bedding plants with care,
It looked like a sea of flowering waves.

She was old and bent, her hair quite grey,
But her eyes did shine bright with love.
Her husband and child had all gone ahead
To their mansions in heaven above.
They found her one day, as if asleep
In her old rocking chair by the fire,
Reading a book about wild flowers,
A smile on her face, as if hearing a choir.

Everyone mourned the death of Granny Greer
For she was always loving and kind.
She was buried next to her husband and child
In the cemetery, there peace to find.

No one bothered to weed the graves
No one planted flowers through the year.
Yet there is always a bunch of fresh flowers
On the grave of old Granny Greer.

M Ann Margetson
Mar 1^st 1998 ©
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