deepundergroundpoetry.com

Chapel in the wood

I leaned the leaning gate
beside the wood and pasture
more to think than rest;
 slow clouds, heavy and grey
made their leisurely westward
journey, a bad sign; cold tomorrow
you can bet your gloves on that,
four layers today, five tomorrow.
Every day I'm here, just me and Jack,
I know each stick and rabbit hole;
miles from anywhere and mobiles
I love the handsome naves of pine
reaching for the sky  random laid,
tumult vaulting, pagan, raw nature.
There is a corner hid away
deep yew, dew and holly,
a chapel with no candles,
dark, discrete, where I dare not.
I hear rumours from the starlings,
who pay tribute every day   .   .
foolish to believe,  The wise  owl
calls   .    .   . never says a word.
Whom to ask as I lean the gate
leaning by the wood and pasture ?
I must to the chapel, subdue  fear
seek once,find and pay tribute,
once will be enough   .   .just once.
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2 reading list entries 0
comments 4 reads 641
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 2:34pm by Ahavati
SPEAKEASY
Today 2:11pm by Rew
POETRY
Today 2:05pm by Grace
SPEAKEASY
Today 1:14pm by nightbirdblue