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“On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
some pious drops the closing eye requires;
even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
even in our ashes live their wonted fires.”
― Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Church Yard

“In case if you don't listen to the words of the lord, you need to hang upside down like bats over churchyard in the name of coronavirus”
― P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

“A Churchyard In Summertime by Stewart Stafford

O, to stand in a quiet country churchyard,
The graveyard bending in summer zephyrs,
Chlorophyll light beneath swaying poplars,
Rook song in twilight's nocturne.

Oblivious hues spread upon canvas,
Beside the somnambulant swanning river,
Miasmas of midges at the water's edge,
In the crosshairs of a painter's thumb.

Then the sun rolls away over the horizon,
A veil draws across the long day's play,
A churn supper collection of basket and easel,
Recollections in the slumbering night.

© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford