The Ludford in question is the one on the Lincolnshire Wolds, not the one close by Ludlow in Shropshire.

 

Ludford Churchyard

 

Bellowing past the close mown grass,

big wagons thunder at ancient stone

to drown a chorale's seeping. Prone,

the organ's praiseful chords sublime

are couched within its sanctuary; crass

conceiver of everlasting life: His, not mine.

 

The furthest corners hide curious heights:

with soaring tunes do English-folk dwell

along their simplest journey, fall

close by those already gone. Thus:

“Mary Brown. 1896. God's light”.

New headstones, old shadows bounteous.

 

The sun invades the darkest places

within the churchyard shambling,

illuminates its roses rambling,

stones that tell not of storied lives,

though all are servant to unknown graces,

and Ludford Churchyard, not quietly, survives.

 

Chris Hubbard

2020