While with a quiet, uncommon grace
The Eden flows through time and place..
The park sits silent hushed and still
St Michael’s stands upon the hill.
How with a curse, a kicking goad
Off into history they once rode.
Where a garrison honed the art of slaughter
A bishop mourned for his young daughters.
What was that tune the organist played?
Contentment, for a moment, found
No shadows fell no gathering cloud.
As I listened on the age-worn step
The winter down the hillside swept.
And, though, a quiet and solemn place
Warm sunlight shone upon my face…
I waited till the clouds took form
Birds grew less muted in their song.
A moment -forever lost in time
Fragmenta of forgotten rhyme.