The church shivers in the cold
crouched among the snowdrops
slippery in the winter rain
Out of time, figures walk
among the tombstones,
talking of skeletons and saints,
dreams and witches
And one day you may dance here too
disguised as artists and poets
uncovering history by chance
trying to recall faith’s secret meaning
and the way we run from death –
as if there were some other way
to say goodbye
One of a series of Lent poems: this one relates to
an exhibition in Paston Church, Norfolk