Between the roads, among the trees.
Twisting in a course above the
Green scummed pond that lies,
Has lain, the centuries, the circle
Of water persists from vapor
To piercing drops that fall upon
Us who live. The faith, too, lives
In our minds as in the English
Bond that stays as it was known,
Then the only force solidity.
Six by one and ten lives thick, the
Faith considered permanent as
Clay borrowed from the river’s edge
Convenient for use and dried
In sunlight by the stalking wheat
And reflecting pond, waiting for
The faith to place each course
With faultless line and enduring love.
By David King
The fifth poem from Virginia Churches, a series of 8 poems on colonial churches.
Copyright 2004 by David King.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.