Silver rays spread out like God's fingers
coming from the Silver eye
that follows me.
Passing the dying hedgrows
a dozen birds flying somewhere
too late to miss the winter.
and then the gulls flying away from the sea.
by this time I am climbing the hill
towards the darkened chapel
two magpies sit on the poplar's branch
just watching the Winter.
i walk down the beech alley
silver clouds open above the church
yew hedges newly clipped.
November's chrysanthumem's yellow still
but turning brown.
Inside the chapel pages turn
candles are lit, a white creche
above an ancient fireplace.
Silently the chapel comes to life
the singing begins, praise is due
for a story that I thought I knew.
L. Ivison 2025 copyright
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