(Between
Broome and Port Hedland)
I
saw three crosses in the dunes
Of
driftwood, rough and brown,
And
one leaned East, and one leaned West
And one had tumbled down.
One had a name cut with a knife,
The
other two were bare;
Unless
that name were written false
No
lies at all were there---
No
virtues posthumously hewed
Though
hitherto ignored;
Stark
humble as the Holy Rood
Was
each unlettered board;
No
promises to meet again,
Nor
hints of future bliss---
Yet,
as I set them plumb, I thought,
"There's
not much now amiss!"
Peter Hopegood