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On the renovation of St Leonard’s Church

 Standing proud against the dawn, the tower of St Leonard’s,
An outer skeleton of steel, draped in a builders shroud.
Commuters hastily leaving cars nearby, pass without a thought,
Dashing by to catch the tram, scurrying onward, city bound.

Workmen arrive and climb the steel, to repair the ravages of time.
Inside the Church, aproned ladies hustle and bustle, cook and clean,
Preparing refreshment for leg weary shoppers in need of repose,
And soul weary visitors seeking inspiration and spiritual renewal.

 Today a funeral halts kitchen work and builders pause in quiet respect
Pondering, perhaps, as we all might, on their own fragile humanity.
Their mortality suddenly brought to mind in the sorrow of the mourners.
Today a stranger, tomorrow it could be them, or me, or you.

 Yesterday a wedding reminded those nearby of life’s rich circles
Two young people, joyfully setting out in hope to create their future.
Laughing crowds gathered round, throwing symbols of good luck.
While older folk smiled in memory of long past nuptials of their own.

 Afternoon passes; the kitchen volunteers wash crockery and clear away.
Ending another happy day of toil in service of the Church they love.
Calling out a cheery “good night” they leave the busy builders to their work.
Till evening approaches when they, too, wearily pack away their gear.

 Uncaring, unseeing, commuters rushing back to cars left hastily this morn.
A hard day at work perhaps, or maybe a day of play, who knows?
They never talk, never say, but how fast they go and race away.
How swiftly they all leave the town, all hurrying to families and home. 

As darkness falls, the tower stands once more alone under it’s dark veil.
Day fades into night and other lights take the place of the bright sun.
Red, blue, green fade one into another, cascading to form a rainbow
A constant cavalcade around the tower; a multi coloured angels dance.

 The witching hour approaches, the bright, light angel lights disappear.
The tower still keeps it’s unnoticed watch across the quietly sleeping town.
And becomes, once more, host to the unseen shadows of the night,
Guarding memories of those gone before, ‘til the return of another dawn.

 © Eileen Birch January 2005 

A Poem about Bilston Town Hall can be read Here          Eileen-Ward-Birch reads two poems 1 2 (note these links take you to You Tube).