Saint Margaret's by the Mira

by Francis Blaise Gillis

Photo by Channel 82 on Unsplash

In solemn white upon a hill

Against a veil of Virgin blue

Stands a gothic church of wood

Not drawn from the forest near

That hovers closer day by day

Until just barely kept at bay

Allowing church and faith to stay.

Inside again are white and blue

On ceiling, walls and Mary's garb.

There's stations of the cross, of course,

And holy altar draws the eye.

The statues are like uncles, aunts

Who loved to hear our treble chants

When we were held in God's romance.

Many steps down and across the road

A rambling graveyard gently slopes

To flora free along the edge

Of a silver Mira moving slow.

Far along that untamed shore

Cry of a loon opens a door

To make me wonder if there's more.

With dates of death a century

And decades more ago, the oldest

Stones with letters worn do lean

And sometimes topple. Far later stones

Are straight and tall. And here he lies,

Sent with many tears and sighs

And fondest hope he'll one day rise.

For aught that I did leave untried

My dearest brother please forgive.

But you'd have liked we brought you here

Where one in Keltic mist did raise

Anointed hand to bless and store

Your bones with all so blessed before

To lie not far from lovely shore.

To lie with others that have gone,

To stare with eyes that are no more

Not at the church nor Mira's flow

But into endless sky for aye.

Ah bones from which the souls had fled

Did overhear the prayers we said

With calm indifference of the dead.