Churchyard Lichen Poem by Martin Ward

How many years has it taken
for you to look so beautiful?
Borne on wings of angels,
you give life to the stone dead.

I could not bear to peel
you off to find a name.

Leafy foliose;
shrubby fruiticose:
flat leaf like or
tiny leafless branches.

They picnic here:
photosynthesizing
in pallet-mixed colours
of powdery leprose.

Dead stones
world of life:
living-it-up
in a churchyard,
whilst their cousins
live on thin air;
survive the Arctic Tundra,
or bask in baking deserts.

Fruit trees can be
especially rich;
but I can see you hiding
under the lychgate thatch.

They trace the mason's
workings, keeping secret
the hidden words beneath.

Offering up
variations of orange,
amidst the still symphony
of life, death and petrichor;
clinging on to immortality.