Not Far from Dremeford
Though painted by the sunset, streams have no
Awareness of the western sea. The graves
Beneath the castle have no knowledge, though
They face towards the dawn. Aflame like naves
At Easter, children’s eyes compete with glass
In sunward windows of the abbey. Greens
And blues held strong by lead send light to brass
Upon the altar. This place has not seen queens
Or princes. Common country roads are bound
For nowhere quickly, common with their health
Of larks and nests in holly, and the sound
Of hedgerow nightingales. These are their wealth.
..Black funerals in crepe come. They are rare.
….The people’s lives here speak a field-like prayer.