Places Of Worship – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…


Places Of Worship

It seemed fitting that my grandmother should

Lie so close to where she’d taught the children

For so many years. And always now she would

Hear the congregations being bidden


To Sunday morning worship. Just the same

I wondered how my grandfather had felt,

That morning when the undertakers came

And left him there for always by the church.


Uncompromising non-conformist, he

Had preached in all the chapels round about.

Ironic that of all things it should be

What bound them closest that kept them apart.


For every day at dawn they both would kneel

In prayer together to the God they loved

But on a Sunday, at the church bells’ peal,

She would meet God in her way, he in his.

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards


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Filed under Meet The Family, Other Folks Writings That I Like, Poem Of The Week, Poetry

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