Sitting Among the Gravestones in the Churchyard of St. Andrews in Castle Combe

The ivy grows so quickly across the crumbling gravestones
only the angels can see it.
So my eye follows
the dance of the bees among the elderflower.
Mortal and immortal each marking the time in our own way.

This stone bears her name
now illegible from wind and rain.
So my finger traces what it can
slowly through lichen and moss.
A prayer of remembrance lovingly etched.
The living seeking communion
with the dead.

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5 thoughts on “Sitting Among the Gravestones in the Churchyard of St. Andrews in Castle Combe”

  1. Lovely. Glad you're making such good use of your visit to the UK!

    It was great to meet you the other evening and to hear you speak. Hope you are enjoying the rest of your visit.

    I posted some notes/thoughts on your talk at Borough Common on my blog. Paraphrasing you from memory, so if I misunderstood/misremembered/misrepresented anything then please let me know!

  2. Richard, I truly enjoy your poetry.

    Living in the Northeast I pass by many cemeteries with graves dating back hundreds of years, their head stones announcing that the person resting there once had a life, a real existence. Yet, how many other graves must there be that have no marker, in grave yards that are now hidden by woods and brush? My guess is, many. No one remembers them, names long forgotten. Still, I choose to embrace the thought that the moment in which I live is not only a result of my own mind, choices and work, but of the flesh and spirit of those who occupied this space before me; another approach to the wonder of "All in All".

  3. Hi John, I was amazed at how well you captured my words! Thanks for preserving and sharing them. And I greatly benefited from your own reflections. Tomorrow my post will simply point readers toward your post.


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