Hailes, Stone Cold...
Out of the chilling Cotswold breeze
Into a silent chapel bleak, bare, cold as stone;
Unpolished pews warped, worn, acutely angled,
As crown of unlit candles dangled
And a myriad coloured ceramic tiles gleamed,
Set amongst stone...
Stout among the chilling memorial slabs,
Stood a potent, coarsely-hewn font of jaundiced stone;
Wall-painted disciples and horrors dully appeared,
Hunting hounds’ bare teeth at hiding harried hare sneered
And the oblique St Catherine’s beauty blessed and becalmed,
Cold as stone...