Erista (1)

Cold the wind blows
Over the lowly roofs
The brown hill looms
Over the demure houses

Stark the church stands
Exposed to the wind
Rushing in from the west
From across the Atlantic

Long since its bell
Has ceased to toll
Over the town
Of the church

Empty its shell
Greys up on the hillside
Remembering words
And psalms that resounded within

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