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

To remember

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.