In the Churchyard

In the churchyard, holly, green with berries of red

and junipers next to ancient oaks grow.

Tombstones upright and falling,

names of old; mother, son, beloved,

decades, centuries ago left this fold.

Birds fill the air with happy songs.

Squirrels chatter, chasing up and down great trees.

Green grass and damp soil,

riotous colours of sweet-smelling flowers bloom,

purples, yellows, reds and whites,

reaching their faces towards the sun.

The breeze rustles, swaying branches and

making the flowers flow in a sea of motion.

The sun plays hide and seek with passing clouds,

while pinecones drop and moss grows.

In the churchyard people wander amongst the tombstones

and glory in nature’s beauty.

They mingle with spirits passed,

memories and dreams of what lives were like.

The stone building stands,

arches round and pointed mixed,

dark windows of glass, its colour

gracing only the inside with hues of red and blue,

light that bathes rainbows,

warming the cold space with its bliss.

Doors of wood with iron rivets stand,

telling of days gone by,

people filled with awe, joy or tears

move through the mist of memories.

Bells toll with sound that pierces the soul,

the passage of time, come to worship,

end of war, and loves united.

In the churchyard, fair with promise of glory

all bask in wonderment at God’s creation.

Inspired by the church in Ditchling, Sussex, England.

Marjorie Monroe-Fischer

November 2019