Sunday, 29 December 2013

An Enunciation at Bursea Chapel.

Two miles south west of 'Land of Nod,'
a little chapel sits,
of even orange, rustic brick;
to the tasteful glory of God,
designed by William Butterfield,
I think that's why it fits.

It glows in cheerful morning light
and welcomes its old friends,
to take communion in the warm
and strongly recommends itself
simplicity feels right.

The hymns, Ancient and Modern,
are quietly intoned
and o' er the prayer book's paths well trodden
the congregation bends,
and mumbles its responses,
with feeling, most well honed.

And you should hear the minister
who oversees proceedings
in Yorkshire-Oxford accent clear,
which voice repels the sinister,
and confirms joy and drives out fear,
what blessings are his readings!

And all upon this Sunday morn
within this chapel place
upon this warp land fertile fen,
because of God, His grace,
we heard the words of Betjeman,
spoken lugubriously,
each one sounding alone, forlorn,
like Alan Bennet being Eeyore,
so the congregation, me,
or anyone without the door,
might know what all this fuss is for,
might hear good news in accent clear
as we do this time of year,
and as we will continue to;
Alan Bennet being Eeyore:
"And is it true, And is it true?"

(I don' know where the centre of 'Land of Nod' is, it is sign posted from Tollingham and there is a bridal path to it off Skiff Lane)

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