Fountains Abbey
I sit and ponder
this roofless skeleton,
It's inhabitance long since gone.
The past and ageless sound
Of chanting monks
In ghostly form,
Can sometimes still be heard,
To permeate and shroud
The nights deathly stillness.
High upon those fleshless walls
And so deep within it's sanctum,
Birds gather to nest and sing
Making this mournful,
But dignified, ruin
Their home.
And as the warm,
Rising sun
breaks through
The abbey's slowly decaying ribs,
Spreading out it's light
Across a darkened, shadowed floor,
It makes way for
wild flowers and moss
To grow,
bringing sustenance and new life
To Fountain's Abbey once more.
Words by Kevan Koya, August 2007
|
