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Grey and ancient I think we’d say
but standing proudly every day,
your bricks are crumbly your fabric grim
the hanging lamps are often dim
but you have the smell that brings much peace
of wooden pews a polished feat
humbly knelt by those that seek…
 
Our old clock that ticks and loudly tocks
though silent prayers it grunts and knocks,
watchful eyes that see it all, as shafting
sunlight bless shadowed walls.
Thin ancient mauve lit-leaded panes
breathe smoky rays of God’s dawning names
on brass plaques that honour those that fell
in 1914-18 – this war of hell!
 
But now,
still and quiet on Sunday faces, those that dream
of Heaven’s places-yet unseen…
The heart that beats in this ancient place of sometimes
sorrow or better still of wedding grace.
Of joy and love.
 
Your watchful eyes with secrets safe of bonny babes
in christening robes and pretty bones that kneel in rows
for those who ardently pray within these walls.
And love, yes love!
For is it not love that will echo through eternity?
For those we pray, those in mind most every day.
 
The sadness seen, the secrets kept
as those we love, join sleeping rest.
Within these walls St Margaret’s sees it all
with watchful eyes…
 
 

~Competition piece to raise funds for St Margaret’s~