Clink and clank down the aisle with frown or smile
rattling grates in the still dead of the night
moving swiftly as if in a mad haste
to go nowhere just lost in endless flight.
The air is filled with scent so sweet and bright
no light, no sound, but smell of rose abound
a fragrance visited with ghost on time
no flowers in the church or on the ground.
Seen upon the towers in frantic mood
peering over walls to cobbled stones
with worried gaze as in a fearful stare
but no-one there to see, but him alone.
Who is this ghost, a monk from Norman times?
searching his house not knowing who or why
will someday lay his head and soul to rest
be blessed and then say to the world goodbye.
© D Marsden 2017