Bulstrode
Soft shapes and slips in the landscape
Speak of times long gone by.
All the footsteps before you
Discern a definite line, a course to follow.
And, witness to the power and patronage of the past,
This way leads us up and over, across the hillside,
To a close kept garden, ages old.
A garden of faith, a garden of trust freely given
That shelters it carefully tended secrets well.
Here, edged by the big bushy bright colours
Of tumbling exotic flora,
Or bathed beneath the trained canopies of handsome foreign trees,
Patches and eddies of personal presence reverberate and linger still.
Ripples in time across the centuries,
Cast in both sunlit and shadowed vistas,
Reveal a visible spiritual tapestry.
An intricate lattice work of all the energies,
Whether selfless of not, spent and given here.
A redolent memory, a lesson.
A bequest from the countless ambitious souls
Some iridescent now,
Others so dark and lost still,
That have passed through this charmed place
On their timeless journey before us.
I enjoyed this poem very much.
Thank you!
Alan