RUINED CHURCH AT COLSTON BASSET, NOTTINGHAMSHIRE 

My daughter drives me through the lanes
of valed and misted rural Nottinghamshire
to park by a minor roadside
to visit ruined church and living graveyard.

The church stands high against the azure skyline
broken by the green trees of spring.
We walk slowly down a grassy path
and through rustic, and rusty, gate.

The stones of the dead all around
from long ago to yesterday;
this yard still grows.

The church noble in its decay
and across the field
a cricket ground with moving flannelled men
in whites. The game goes its steady way.

I turn to the ruin with ivy on its walls
—and time is still.

My daughter drives me home. 

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