Excerpt
Somewhere Near Evesham

December swept the cemetery lawn;
The drone of church bells bridged the waterway.
On ancient tombstones, near the abbey wall,
Each epitaph was faint and worn away.

But then that special one, in front of me,
Had blossoms reaching upward from the ground,
All yellow, bright as spring. And when I read
The words engraved, a sleeping voice I found—

It softly echoed out in hope these words:
“Although my body is corrupt, I shall
Again be whole.” And all the way I thought
Of her, while wandering the long canal.