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Today we go to Cassie’s Park
we go to lay the wefted sheet;
the Christmas love her parents give.
Today she runs amongst our minds
and plays upon the hill
the little girl in guarded hearts
who lives amongst us still.
She never had her running start
a wisp of here and gone.
Denied her chance to make mistakes,
a brief but shining light.
In Cassie’s Park, we stoop and
brush the autumn leaves and twigs
and shed a tear, we brush from cheeks
all reddened from the cold.
In Cassie’s Park, in Cassie’s Park
there’s a hundred years of love.
Of folks who came and stayed a while
and left us names in stone. The
builders of our country,
the merchants of our youth,
the moms and dads and kith
and kin; we let all our
loved ones in.
But tiny tiny, amongst the trees
is one be-jewelled corner
where Cassie lays for all our days
still loved and not forgotten.
So when your Christmas bird is cooked
and laid upon your table,
please raise a glass
and toast the past that
graces Cassie’s Park.
Ian,
Very nice. It made Mrs. B cry, but that’s OK. She believes that Cassie is her own guardian angel.
Mrs. B and I been to the park many times, including that first cold, cloudy day. On my visits, I also always take the time to visit a young lad laid there – also taken too soon – and leave a flower or a toy to show that he is rembered.