‘Burial of the Gravedigger’s Daughter’ and Other Poems

Burial of the Gravedigger’s Daughter

I’ll take her to the hill
Near the olive tree.
Can I do it in the daylight?
I’m afraid what I shall see.

Not all the graves I’ve dug,
Dry and wide and deep,
Can hold the sweetness
Of my daughter not asleep.

In our village someone
Must dig the graves for all,
Her death has just begun
Under her prayer shawl.

My shovel is my cross.
My shovel cannot bless.
My child, I must soil
Your white lace dress.



Fantasy on a Goya Drawing
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