Pine Mountain Cemetery IV

Little mop head with tangled curls,
Sunshine carried on her head
With a giggle spread out for us.

See the rock marked with a T?
Heart shaped, a daisy chain with
Pink clover captures the tiny stone.

Her runaway horse spooked by hiss
And strike of the sunning rattlesnake.
Our screaming girl held hard until

Her foot seized by stirrup dragged
Her down the rock strewn cliff.
No chance to save girl or horse.

Myth she became, the child lost
To a fate too cruel to bear. Her
Mother rests in the nearest space.

Her sisters spin tales of her beauty
Too rare to keep, sweetness too rich
For such mortals as those four be.