The Snail Trail

Travelling with my home on my back and in no hurry to get anywhere

Silent Sentinels

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Crosses by the road side
Silent sentinels of death
That mark the place that someone
Took their final breath.

Some are festooned with flowers,
Others starkly bare,
And the names engraved upon them
Remind us who perished there.

A moment’s inattention,
Sometimes fuelled by drugs or booze,
With no thought of any danger
Or expecting life to lose.

Grief stricken friends and family
Pick up the pieces of their lives
And struggle bravely to continue
Without husbands, kids or wives.

The crosses are reminders
To focus on the drive
And be aware of all around us
So we arrive alive.

Rosemary Robinson August 2015

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