The First Cathedral
To call this a cathedral
is the wrong way around –
for those medieval stonesmiths
drew upon its sylvan grace
for inspiration: a wood of quickening green,
carpeted by the bright hum of ramson,
the flamenco frills of Spanish bells.
A nod and a wink from the green man
gurning from boss stone and church pew
at the coded forest about him,
echoing where he first drew breath,
a gleam in the eye of the dawn stag.
Walk the fungal aisle,
hearken the feathered choir –
let the aspiring trunks draw eye to
the filigree of vaulted canopy
with its mindful crown shyness,
the rood screens and side
chapels of the understorey,
the apse and the chancel
of the bower and the grove.
The place I come to worship,
a prayer in blue on this
day of April respite,
a peal of bluebells
ringing in the Spring.
Copyright Kevan Manwaring, 2021