In a common grave he lies
In Highgate Cemetery
Through the West Gate
And up the winding path
He hides for me to find.
Amongst the bluebells he sits
In Highgate Cemetery
Their deepest purple hue
Outnumbered by wild garlic
Releasing their aroma as I wander in.
Rich and poor interspersed
In Highgate Cemetery
Monuments so grand
Cast wealthy shadows
Over grassy neighbours.
There is no headstone for him
In Highgate Cemetery
No words of poetry
Nor name nor date
To mark his final resting place.
I find my Grandfather
In Highgate Cemetery
Encased by trees
The choir of birdsong
And long-forgotten names.
What a heaven I have found In Highgate Cemetery.
GRH
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