THE GARDEN

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PETE MULLIN

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Early, early morning through the half-light alone
Through the tall gates and towers of this place they called home
With the sun gently rising, like a moth to a flame
I am drawn to the garden, to the garden of shame
We were young and in love, everything had made sense
How would anyone imagine the consequence
For they told us we must leave you, only had ourselves to blame
Now I stand here old and weary in this garden of shame
Suffering young woman, such rejection and scorn
And suffer little children from their mothers they were torn
Taken from those loving arms, the strong were rehomed and renamed
While the weak buried in limbo, in those gardens of shame
‘Cherish all the children of the nation equally’
These words were proclaimed, by a nation to be free
And still our leaders, saints & scholars claim it wasn’t in their name
While I stand here with the angels in the garden of shame
They said times a healer, they said go to your mass
And pray for forgiveness, that the pain and sorrow pass
But as my tears and dewdrops mingle in this garden without name
Its only you my sleeping angel, tell me I am not to blame

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