Feet that once trod this path now rest
Beyond the ruin, their ranging ceased.
Some names persist, on weathered stones incised,
But more are lost, unknown.
Where their eyes glanced, or closed in reverence,
Blind windows blacken the embracing wall.
Only the passing birds suggest
Shadows of past congregations
Who stood or knelt here; only field flowers
And grasses surprise with colour where
Babes were baptised, young lovers wedded,
Voices were raised in anthems, hymns and prayer.
Ranks of the dead still speak: remember us –
We formed these paths, these boundaries, these fields,
And of the same clay, breath, and footprints you are made.
The generations pass – so too, belief –
Though Resurrection hopes may not sustain,
Redundancy will lay a hand on you.

Ishbel Beatty, 2014