POSTCARD FROM CORNWALL

GUNWALLOE - CHURCH BY THE SEA

Dust motes dithering in slanting shafts

of sunlight, filtering through stained glass.

A sudden draft and rustling leaves

are prancing merrily as they pass.

Phantom spirits, vaguely redolent

of long dead, fervent fisherfolk,

linger here, forever captive;

inhabiting these pews of oak.

New spun webs adorn the pulpit

where vicars gazed; expressions grim,

on Sunday shined and polished boys

impatient for the final Hymn.

Musty smells from well-thumbed hymnals -

a jam jar spilling bright wildflowers,

make this place a blessed haven

to pass a few reflective hours.