By a Country Church

Spring, and all its morning sounding
Guide me up a rocky path;
At an angle, streaming downward
Is a sort of sunlight bath

And the voices singing, singing
In the empty church I hear;
Songs of sorrow and of triumph
Memorized of yesteryear

Shadows, gentle on the hillside,
Past the cemetery plots,
Rows of flowers, shorn, haphazard,
A few thorns in empty spots

Spring, and hope: poetic fancy,
Written often, seldom read --
But there is no hope like finding
Hope and joy among the dead

Tell me, have you heard it lately?
I have, and I've come to tell
Though we all walk different pathways
I hope you and yours are well

In this gathering, this lifetime.
Light and darkness felt, and shared,
Know that someone loves you ever,
Someone's always, always


Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

Leave a Reply