A Dartmoor Cross Knee-deep in wild flowers and fresh bracken, twisted as if the weather of twelve centuries could finally warp granite - the stone cross leans on its high hillside, but will not fall, socketed by four mossed boulders sunk in deep, locked with conviction of significance. Did they come here to pray stand in the sun or rain in view of forty other hills ranged out like ripples from this one dropped stone? The valley folds round those who sing their matins wondering who’ll repair the leaking roof. Here, scabbed with old lichen arms cut back to stumps - a tree-stump petrified - this elemental sign may stand for centuries yet. witness both of change and changelessness.
Tony Lucas is retired from parish ministry but continues work of editing and spiritual direction. His poetry has appeared widely, on both sides of the Atlantic, and past collections Rufus At Ocean Beach (Stride/Carmelyon) and Unsettled Accounts (Stairwell Books) remain available.
Thank you for this beautiful poem.
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