Defeated? A sonnet to empty churches

Come on. You lot have survived worse things:

Black Death, Plague and two World wars,

The Reformation (Cromwell clipped the wings

Of angels in the roof); and there are scars


On ancient faces, marble noses cropped

And poppy heads beheaded like the King;

And modern vandals too. But you've not stopped

Your ageless plain ability to sing


Of something quite indifferent to the now;

Built with a trusting love and potent faith

You stand there still in testament to how

Beauty is not a wafted fleeting wraith,


A ghost which chance can whimsically destroy;

You can be filled, if not by faith, with joy.


Anon, June 2020