In The Light Of Things Poem by John Scully

In The Light Of Things



Big, small, the ageing tombs
coal-face Victorian black
stand sheltering in mourning glory
like fallen leaves in autumn's rigour.
And in the sun-dripping shadows
staringly wide-awake
they whisper in rustle sways
attendant that we should
not go far away.
For in the end, at nature's whim
we too will break the soil,
big, small and ageing
returning at His will.

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