Withered Grave

Sculpted from stone many a moon ago,
a carving slumbers beneath the waves of a meadow.

Far too young at the time I grasped it in my hands,
I let go and once more it fell upon its bed of charity,
as before it once more shone brightly for all to see,
yet not a living soul would tend to it again.

A guardian from the heavens watching over all,
it greeted young and old whilst never mocking lost souls,
for it pays homage to all that passes it by,
yet none perceived it till me.

Who would ever know that here once lay a true saint,
that here once lay the one true saint withering in a grave.

One can only guess as to the reason for its lonely vigil,
yet thinking back I can’t help but wonder,
who had carved the name of...
…Jesus Christ, Lord and Saviour.

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