The wrinkles
they are a bit faded
but have a gentle presence
that fits with the folds
of the 16thC altar cloth
once ****** white
but now stained
through years of use
bread and tears
or wine
and tiny rice biscuits!
The Christ on the cross
is very old
made of painted wood
and the altar is surrounded
with a fence
of turned table-leg like posts
pale blue
as is much of the interior
perhaps denoting Heaven
and as the psalms
waft music round about
we look through the windows
to the listening hills
and streams
the old birds
wise
will sit watching too
and all the people
will suddenly feel their age
wow what a display of flowers
the church was as full of them as people
I put in the only black dress I had with dark pink roses on it too and I cut the rim of a black felt hat that had cost only Kr. 10.- in scollops and diamond cuts around the crown as it was too big for me.
Then I walked down to the valley to the church, and when I entered was ushered to the very front pew, I said there must be more important family members than me to be seated, I could hide in the balcony or something but he insisted. So I had a good view of the proceedings!
It think several hours waiting the ***** playing quietly in the background and finally things began to happen.
I sat next to a black man, he was already dressed in black!!! The white robed "prest" came into view and with his powerful voice sang twice as loud as the congregation.
After all the flower sashes had been repetitively read out, we left the church following the coffin to its final resting place.
And just as had happened in the church the priest mentioned the sun and its rays came through the windows, and as he threw on the "earth to earth, dust to dust," it broke through the grey clouds again and lit up the gay flowers, the frame of black and white onlookers many in tears watching.
Margaret Ann Waddicor
Referring to the last poem on wrinkles, thought I would send it all..