Old Country Church
Some pondered ways
to pep-up the pulpit and pew,
but disinterest and ennui won the day.
The clergy went away to get help
and never came back.
Eventually, thunder and sleet
cracked stone, spire, and gable;
neglect, and the cold winds of time
nibbled at arch and buttress.
Where once was a stained-glass light,
weeds and mildew weathered to a moldy rot.
Where once the hems of cassocks swept
now mice and spiders rest or nest,
and baby bats roost in the rectory.
There In a dusty belfry
owls hoot and solemnly perch.
Walls crumbling to niche and cranny.
Amid all this spacy ruin
jackdaws lay their speckled eggs,
while in the misty moonlight
homeless angels dance
upon feather-light, slinky legs.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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