The Stone Tape

A visit to St Martin's Church, which I had not visited for ages, inspired the poem for this Saturday...

The Stone Tape
Bach is playing softly, as I wander
Around ancient walls of past time;
The past is a mystery yet to ponder:
When in ancient times, bell did chime,
How did it feel to hear that clarion call?
Come in from the fields on harvest day,
Choir singing sweetly from their stall;
Music uplifts my spirits while you play:
Your fingers nimble on the piano keys,
Bring warmth and passion to the very heart,
Where people came, went down on knees,
To pray; but empty today, and no one sees
Your skill but myself; an echo down the age,
Of all who loved this building, saw the grace;
Figures in stained glass, as actors on a stage,
Forming this stone landscape, a sacred space;
From ancient times, a chalice given of wine,
The priest breaking bread, to eat and drink,
Everyone in the drama, to let the glory shine,
Many ages, so many people, make me think;
Down the aisle, countless pilgrims on the way:
I hear their echoes, distant time comes so near,
As your soft music plays, their shadow wraith;
Time past comes alive, the stones tell their tale,
Their story, a journey of love, and hope and faith;
And our love is there too, your music, my delight,
The patterns engraved in history, grains of sand,
And pointing ahead, a beacon shining in the night;
It rains softly as we leave, peaceful, hand in hand.