A Private Moment
The small raised churchyard
Invites you in up steps
To its secretive enclave,
Quiet, privileged, meant for those
Inscriptions are lengthy,
On enduring granites which are
Still polished up, as if done daily,
It feels solitary, a discovery,
But is not.
I've disturbed a woman
Studying a tomb slab.
Chinese, perhaps, she is sturdy
In her summer dress.
Irritated, she moves off
To a stone bench in the shrubbery.
It does not save her from intrusion.
A chattering group of men,
Wander through with vague interest,
Then out again.
I wonder what the people below,
With their so parochial English names,
Would make of their visitors today?
The woman watches me walk away too.
Good, she clearly thinks!