Cleaner of the Faith

He awoke around midnight with a strange thought in his head, Was floating through a distance somewhere high above his bed. He could not reach the blankets that had kept him once so warm, Stared down on a rusted crown left beside his lifeless form. Promises long forsaken were drifting into this view, Written on the parchment brown, carried by a breeze come through. Reminded him his fortune; his survival of the flood; All those things given to him that were signed for with his blood. Trumpets played and drummers drummed as people paraded by, Hardly got to say 'hello', let alone a quick 'goodbye'. Saw a few he knew by name though they looked not at his face, Marched into the falling mist, disappearing with no trace. Felt the chill of winter's breeze as if cut through to the bone, Knew at once the emptiness meant for those that die alone. Minutes turned to centuries and dreams took flight on the wing, Changes move with changes quick; the alarm clock starts to ring. He's now cleaned this parish church for nigh on thirty-five years . . .