Village Church

Village Church

Angels are flying overhead from the beams

The covered font reaches up to the sky

A home and refuge in honour of one who redeems

A resting place where loved ones in peace can lie

Strange figures hiding beneath the seats

The craftsman has carefully left his signature

Here is a centre where the village still meets

Seeking light to escape the darker lure

Around the walls the saviour makes his last walk

In a quiet space we kneel to respect those who gave their lives

Amidst long grasses I listen as past spirits begin to talk

Then wonder where they wander when night arrives

Stories once unfolded on bright painted walls

Offering guidance and hope for those who sat in oaken pews

A truth being whitewashed for those demanding puritanic halls

Good news being smothered by narrow-minded views

Believers who gathered in the porch before the priest

Would make their pledges to each other before the mass

Then dancing upon the village green would begin the feast

There’s a posy waiting beneath a pillow for another lass

In a place of remembrance an old bent figure kneels

The soldier and the sailor assisting with the cross

An image portrayed in coloured glass reveals

Perhaps a confusion in interpretation of grief and loss

Gathered flint and stone from fields stand

Blessings are still given beneath the covered font

Scripture recited still portrays a picture of the damned

Can these old stones satisfy both need and want

God’s little acre still stands in England’s countryside

An invitation to salvation standing the test of time

The work of medieval craftsmen is admired far and wide

Their hope that meanings in the shrine will not decline

Cathedrals rise high with finery of great arches and spires

Monuments that celebrate both glory and power

But in these rural churches with local village choirs

Greater treasures can be found beneath the knapped flint tower

Copyright: David Hopcroft June 2023