Well maybe not a house in the fields, but a church!
A House in the Fields.
The crumbling walls and faded dreams
Memories of what might have been
The twilight world that lives within
Where daylight ends and night begins.
A curtain through a broken pane
An invalid's supporting frame
The laughter, sadness, joy and tears.
A gate that hangs on broken piers.
Along a winding track that leads
Down to a garden overgrown
With weeds.
And apple trees all gone to seed
With no one left to tend their needs.
And rooks that earn their daily bread
As sentinels that guard its dead
Its empty rooms and rusted tin.
A house in the fields
Too scared to go in.
Frank Murphy.
Photo: Church of Ireland Tara Co. Meath.
3 comments:
Great poem Frank. I know that house well (church) I once lay in the ditch beside it for hours one night with a 303 in my hand waiting for the boys from Trim who were attempting to take over the hill, ( FCA manoeuvres )needless to say the Navan boys bet the crap out of them.
Don't tell Tommy
Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!
Many thanks for comments, folks. It's a long shot at best. I thought Lee Enfield was a poet?
FM.
Post a Comment