Blossom in February struck

a chord of hope and fear;

uneasiness at the coming new order.

We talked of how it used to be or, at least,

how we remembered it.

Snow-ins for many weeks at a time.

Each parish with its own Priest

and Lay Readers in abundance

and the reassurance of Jacobean liturgy.

Villages with self contained entertainments,

family businesses and no incomers.

And the outcome of all this change?

Ah, there’s the rub. Were the old days

really as good as all that?

And getting back to the safety of our roots

can be disturbing.

Such as the startling discovery of the

bright stars in the desert sky,

Mothers of the early church,

some of them honoured as Bishops,

which adds to the confusing contradictions

of our asserted certainties.

Where we are heading towards

may not always be where we wish to be,

but learning from the past

may prepare us for tomorrow’s history

(C) David Grieve 2007

Labels: Poetry

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