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 ramblings and things

Pilgrimage to Nowhere

Church Lane bend
And here we are
Ready to begin
After parking my car

I am a stranger in this place,
Village of my youth and birth;
Many bones of my forebears
Kept in old church yard earth.

Yet, like a ghost, unseen, because unknown
By the very few that I pass or chance to meet
I take slow steady walk, peopling each house
That I pass on each short, old familiar street.

This place of memories
Stored there in my mind
Each in its proper place
And each so easy to find

My irregular and sometimes feared journey
To the very roots of my early and happy past,
A pilgrimage of nostalgia and maybe renewal
So very close to being, again, finished at last.

Unchanged in places.
Ownership passed on.
My friends and family
All so very long gone

Ready to leave
For here we are
Church Lane bend
And back at the car

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