I wander into the churchyard
of the 15th Century grey stone church
where an old grave tugs at my heart:
an epitaph to a man drowned at twenty
on Angle Bay just down the road.
Some names are erased from history,
washed away by storms over many years,
now nobody comes to shed any tears.
Hidden behind a bush I spot
a stone Angel peering sadly
at the departed, locked in silent tombs.
I enter through "the gates of Heaven",
where white walls, a mural of Jesus,
and other religious icons greet my eyes,
letting the Angels wipe troubles away,
alone in the church on a summer's day.
of the 15th Century grey stone church
where an old grave tugs at my heart:
an epitaph to a man drowned at twenty
on Angle Bay just down the road.
Some names are erased from history,
washed away by storms over many years,
now nobody comes to shed any tears.
Hidden behind a bush I spot
a stone Angel peering sadly
at the departed, locked in silent tombs.
I enter through "the gates of Heaven",
where white walls, a mural of Jesus,
and other religious icons greet my eyes,
letting the Angels wipe troubles away,
alone in the church on a summer's day.
