Behind
the barn, half-barn-size and half-seen
between
yew crops, it stands low in its graves.
Stone cherubs, blind with time’s gangrene,
struggle
to feed to bones earth still depraves
with nervous roots and slimes
the Hampshire scene, the well-heeled lane
contenting beefy families still.
Over
the cringing dead behind the times:
Up
Marden church—the charged and empty Will.
...
