In a stand of yews

A church of England awaits

Abandoned to moss

 —

Old oaks, dappled shade

Gentle stream plays madrigals

New leaves, just awake

 —

There be magic here

Rainbows beneath waterfalls

In a secret place

 —

Of mounds, of ditches

Home of sacred burials

Hidden under foot

 —

Carved in ancient stone

By hands long since turned to dust

Yet old tongues still speak

 —

Under cobalt skies

Sandstone crags unmarked by time

Sky larks skim the ridge