Of the Church by the Road

I behold the countryside unfolding with beauty and abundance,

And turn my thoughts to the wondrous world around me.
How I ponder about such archaic things
As the Norman church that sits with solemn remembrance,
As though it would fain relive the glorious ages past:

Those centuries rich and colourful,
While biding its time beside the old Roman road.
Built to last for a thousand years and more,
It has welcomed shivering pilgrims from the howling blizzard,
And the faint from under the midsummer sun.
But certainly, it has suffered times of neglect and disdain.

Thus every Sunday when the organ richly resounds,
The stout Norman church glows with ancient pride,
And will remain so contented and alive
For as long as the worship flows from its gates,
And floods the green hills with melody sweet.

I retreat reverently, softly, into this ancient place so secure,
To smell the musty scent of history and feel the past before me.
I know that when the epitaphs engraved in stone
Are but scattered words upon the grass,
And the last vestige of that fortress crumbles,
Alas! Only memories will linger and brood,
As silent and ghostly as the night.

**********
Olivia Klonaris 1993