Ballad Of Romona"s Rose

For our darling baby of yesteryears

That's strange, he thought, as he mowed the lawn

Of his newly acquired home at the break of dawn

There's only one rose in this briar patch

That once was a garden of color and thatch

How could that single beauty still stand

Without any nourishment from this desert sand?

He paused for a moment to take a good look

At this magnificent rose only seen in a book

Its stunning beauty took his breath away

Reflecting the sun with the colors so gay

The stock stood rigid with a vivid green

Spiderous leaves with a glorious sheen

To protect the rose, he dug deep with his hands

Around the stalky base to loosen the sands

Digging revealed a large misshapen stone

Much too strange to be left all alone

His movements slowed and his brow became furrowed

With excitement rising the deeper he burrowed

Moving his shadow to obtain more light

The sun rays revealed a tombstone in sight

He had to know what the tombstone knew

So he quickened his pace and dug in with his shoe

Carefully, now, don't disturb the rose

Because somehow the flower was part of the prose

With one huge effort he lifted the stone

Wondering why he was there all alone

The headpiece seemed to be very very old

The engraving was weathered but still very bold

"For our darling baby," the first line read

What a beautiful way to speak of the dead

(Born January 26, 1906 - Died December 20, 1907)

"For our darling baby" of yesteryears

(Romona Keaggy Passed On to Heaven)

Born in full grace, now languishing in tears

Just two years of life in the Zuni mountains

In a logging camp of white pine and fountains

The marble headstone had one corner missing

But it must be returned to its place

With a pail of spring water and careful cleaning

He restored the stone to a pristine gleaming

The stone seemed to speak in a quiet way

Please find me a home, let me rest some day

He guarded the marker to be safe and secluded

Started searching the archives for some trace that eluded

To the history of such a beautiful child

That somehow perished in the mountainous wild

As the search continued he became somewhat fanatic

Hiding the marble in his littered attic

Conversing at length with his cherished stone

Promising Romona she would never be alone

A search of the archives finally revealed

Romona was buried in a Martineztown field

City of Albuquerque, New Mexico state

Where the Morning Journal reported the date

The stone had been stolen in years gone by

But later showed up in someone's yard on the sly

And there it rested for a decade or so

Forgotten and lonely, seasonally covered with snow

Cemetary records had been burned in a fire

So returning the old stone began to look dire

We must find Romona, we cannot lose hope

Turn to the church, or maybe turn to the Pope

With some desperation he looked up and prayed

"Please, Dear God, help find where she was laid

Help me find Romona and give us all peace

She must have her marker for this heartache to cease."

With the help of the Lord and many friends

He located records drawing close to the end

Of a journey to the sweet child's burial plot

In Santa Barbara Cemetary on an unkept lot

Romona, our child, had some peace at last

No longer a spirit that had lost its past

And the rose grew larger, and was in full bloom

When he held that service on a Sunday afternoon

With some desperation he looked up and prayed

"Please, Dear God, help find where she was laid

Help me find Romona and give us all peace

She must have her marker for this heartache to cease."

May you rest now dear.

May you rest now here.