Beyond the Grave
The brightest green and dullest grey -
The colours of the cemetery.
The ancient yew tree, centuries old,
Still welcomes all into the fold.
The rich and famous, cheek by jowl
Co-habit with the village poor.
Now all are equal in this place:
Past members of the human race.
Old ivy rises from the grave;
It seeks the light, its soul to save.
Consuming letters one by one,
It clings and creeps towards the sun.
With bold inscription fading fast
The master mason looks aghast.
But who was Walter, where is he?
He's shrouded in obscurity.
A churchyard is a dead city,
Remembrance of mortality
And yet, despite the fading flowers,
The wren and robin here find bowers.
The blackbird's sweet soliloquy
Drifts gently from the rowan tree.
Away with death, decay and strife,
Here is a sanctuary for life!
Comments about this poem (Beyond the Grave by William Messent )
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