An old-fashioned poem to my daughter Rosie on her wedding day, to accompany the gift of a exquisitely prepared trilobite fossil 450m years old, from the Atlas Mountains in Morocco.
Long ago, in ages grand
I fell through midnight seas so cold
Sank beneath the crushing sand
And turned into this stone you hold.
Buried deep, through countless time
I, creeping, rose to mountains high
Until the day of the hunter’s climb
Which laid me bare to human eye.
If you should make each other weep
With broken words, and miscontend,
Think of the time I lay asleep
Remember your own brief time, and mend.
And through all the days when love will flow
With blessed joy and caring kiss
Keep me near, our love to know –
Your friend Eliza and your father,