The Churchyard

Long grey stone around the Church festooned with ivy and marked with lichen. Marking its perimeter. Long lines of ancient yews closing it off from our world. The Church stark, forbidding. Its Norman tower against the sky but abandoned bereft of worship. Down in the Churchyard the graves are old and scattered and all round them grow sweet forget-me-nots tiny, so blue and shy so like the sweet souls that have gone before but still they are in our hearts I wander, blindly seeking where does she rest? There is her grave Oh my love Why did you go? There are more blue flowers of remembrance here You are always in my heart and I’ll forget you not.