When I beheld the stone of Kathleen Anne Easton, I saw the “rose” on the black horse. This is ‘The Fifth Rose’.

“My love is like a red red rose”

Then I noticed someone had fashioned a tail out of what looks like heather. Am I correct? Katie was nineteen? That is a Celtic Cross.

The Rose Horse

by

Jon Presco

The old woman of Bonchurch

gather heather to make your tail

a bosen to sweep her tears away

for a mother comes wearing a veil

to place a red rose at your feet

Her young daughter rides the

black, black horse

that has a rose in its name

Death has come too early

and removed her temptations

to kiss the man, then, his child

she loves, she loved

No joy was born from her womb

No mother should survive their daughter

A sacred chain has been broken

Gone are her sunsets

that pull her over the horizon

No fate to catch her

in its net

Still the hoofs of the black stallion

kick high among the shiny stars

The darkest night has come and gone

One setting sun – forever

One red rose

for the eternal dawn.