WISTOW CHURCH
In far oblivion stars consumed
by early morning breaking light
as shafts of sun reach down to kiss
eidetic images unfolding,
mired in green the scene embedded.
And slowly as nights veil uplifted,
cold crisp air delivers dew
on swards of grass, and stones
in algae, moss, and lichen covered,
names declared, but lives forgotten.
Livestock, birdsong, rustling grasses,
scores discordant harmonising,
natures voices orchestrated,
heralding the proud church standing
clothed serene in honeyed hues.
Michael Edwards© July 2015