Tynecot : Gods Acre

Tynecot. God's acre. Here.. A quiet churchyard on the Kentish Weald Finches flit from holly to yew Shafts of gold pierce the morning sky Calm is the air, serene is the view. There.. Silence. No lark's sweet song Gravestones stand shoulder to shoulder In perfect lines of shining white. Here.. Ivy cloaks the forgotten tombs Aged and weathered, no order in death, Most tinted with lichens yet peaceful, at rest, They welcome the warmth of summers first breath. There.. Manicured lawns disappearing from sight A carpet to cover the fallen below Over whom I now walk at a death's march pace, Most marked with a name that they just didn't know. Here.. Silence. The finches have flown The departed are lying at rest, All souls together, both here and there