Roy Ernest Ballard


The Church, Heydon, Norfolk - Poem by Roy Ernest Ballard

The bats that soil this church
are cherished more than it is
for the old religion
has no value now nor power.

Like all the worthless waste
of long-abandoned cities,
religion is a smidgen
that did not last the hour.

They snatched away their living
from catechising pretties,
the bat and feral pigeon
in chancel and the tower.

Topic(s) of this poem: religion


Poet's Notes about The Poem

New? There is nothing new under the sun. See Bede, A History of the English Church and People, II,13

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 16, 2016

Poem Edited: Saturday, January 16, 2016


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