THE OLD GRAVEYARD
There was an old church where we used to live long ago,
Where some of the oldest yew trees I ever saw did grow,
Dark and dismal they always seemed to me when I was young,
And in that old grave yard the birds never sang a pretty song.
Haunted my grandma used to say, a very spooky place to go,
Yet at the back where no one went the best brambles did grow,
And I plucked up courage as right through the graveyard I’d tread
And pick the berries so sweet, yet I felt no deep down dread.
I had that patch to myself for not many others would wander
Past the main path to those dark dense bushes up yonder.
Then one day I stopped to read the old stones as I walked,
It was as if to me those old graves to me chatted and talked.
Young and old that had passed away hundreds of years ago,
Wanting help I could not give and it really hurt me so,
When I married we made a record of names of those there
And there seemed to be rejoicing in that yew filled air.
Now the work is done for those dead four hundred years ago,
Many other graveyards we did and sweet joy we did know,
No graveyard now seems spooky, they are waiting to be free
And because of the restored gospel this now can surely be.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 29 May 2005
2005/4580/grave/ldsprogramme