As the Last Post sounds
A multi coloured caterpillar stands to attention
Its rainbooted feet silent and still.
Above it towers the church, clad in her coat of black grime,
Staring with unseeing eyes at the vast hills that encroach upon her
Threatening to overcome her once dominant position.
Rain pours from my eyes as well as the sky as Jerusalem resounds
As if in mockery of ‘England’s green and pleasant land.’
Out of the rain now
Into the vast echo chamber punctuated with blood-red bullet points.
A thousand people gather to sing, to listen, to cry, to pray
Not only the fallen
But the damaged, in this, the war to end all wars.
As I leave the church the sun peeks out from behind her shroud
To cast a glittering eye through her own tears
A rainbow arches through the sky
Coming to rest directly over the black foreboding tower
As if to say ‘You have my blessing.’
In the dark of that evening
A beacon is lit high on a remote hilltop
Here, handbells ring out from a tent,
Where poppy quilts and paper gravestones bump elbows with
Hot soup tureens and tea cups,
Fussy toddlers and excited canines,
Joining the nationwide remembrance
On a more intimate scale.