Archive - Thursday, 18 April 2002


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Returning

I KNEW the door, the heavy iron latch,

Stained oak that creaked across the sunless patch

Of ancient stone, aware that altar brass

Still shone as brightly near leaded glass.

So comforting the Bible, leather bound,

Pausing, I remembered a lesson found

And marked before the start of Sunday prayer,

Profound words delivered from the small step there.

Extinguished candles had stemmed trickling wax,

Beside the organ high, untidy stacks

Of books showed signs of yellowing age,

Mustiness pervaded the opened page.

Dark-shadowed pews stretched out in solid line,

On white linen the silver placed for wine

Held familiar reflections, and my thought

Following the silence I had often sought.

The people were gone, from my childhood dispersed,

Lost in the whispers of music and verse,

My journey ended on cold grey stone

With humility, I spoke to God alone.

Submitted by

Rosamund Hudson

Escrick

Updated: 11:35 Thursday, April 18, 2002