Under the Lych-Gate
by Raymond Holt
An ex Cranleigh village Bobby
The summer sun has found our vicar
Dozing in his favourite chair
Under the lych-gate, among soft shadows
Look and you will find him there.
To one side his head has fallen
With a gentle spiritual grace
And beneath his beard, such faith and wisdom
When he comforts the human race.
So into church I follow his dog
And fall to my knees inside a pew,
For now I’m back to where I belong
And I’ll be talking, to you know who.
And so many times in those thirty years
God came in hard and fast
And left me wondering, just who I was –
Why “Justice” was sometimes last.
But the sweet smell of flowers and incense
The tranquillity and stone
Made me feel I was always welcome
And not created to be alone.
LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER
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