Walking in the churchyard

Walking through   the graveyard

See the beauty of the church

Built by conquering Normans

On a stone a robin’s perched.

The sun is setting kindly

Ancient brick walls  glow.

Wild wallflowers decorate them

After winter snow.


Reminds me of Lyme Regis

and of Beer in Devon.

Cliffs  with fossils  bedded in;

that’s my kind of heaven.


Not a room of holy saints

All feeling satisfied

They have got their just desserts.

As sinners hands are tied.


For Jesus mixed with  publicans,

With the   lost and whores.

Self satisfaction’s hard to take

As keeping  ancient scores.


Jesus was a man,you know.

God needs no more death.

The bones from all these churchyards

Are enough cover for the earth.


We can see the liberal notions

Of progress are an error.

Only useless things increase

Which can’t disguise our terror.


We don’t need  belief in God

To recognise the wise.

Orient , oh agnus dei,

Killed by western lies.


Oh, in the churchyard nowadays

They have no wooden bench.

Cripples cannot have a rest

On bed of homeless wretch.


I sat down on a marble  stone

And looked at magic trees.

Where are those lost green men

Whose worship never ceased.





















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