Bunbury
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Eileen Bowerman
Higher Bunbury
The church stands high upon its mound,
a thousand years of history in its stones.
Behind the churchyard is a hidden place,
sloping downwards under the dark trees,
where snowdrops crowd among the old and broken tombs,
and celebrate the lengthening days.
Some say these banks were once the ramparts
of an ancient British camp.
Today, the flowers are like a flood of souls
waiting to be launched into Eternity,
crowding on the brink; jostling silently
for the great adventure that is Death.
Below them as they flower and sleep, and flower again,
are the springing pastures
where the foxes call at night
and the stream, full of winter rains,
runs singing on its way, in minor key;
where little piping birds welcome the advancing days.
New life after winter.
Rebirth after Death. |
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