Concaved by a century of feet they lay
near silent pines and underneath a clear,
insistent litany of bells.
Inside, the glass and varnish bore their own
unspoken witness to a hundred years
of care but none displayed
encapsulated history as well
as those eroded stones.

Their sunken centres trapped the weather where 
the remnants of the autumn drizzle filled 
the hollows in the flag-stones. Chains 
of fractured, slate-cupped tower-reflections held 
within the rain-filled craters lay as still 
as Sunday morning, clear 
as lead-lined, diamond-patterned window panes 
or testaments of bells.

          * 

A concrete mixer waited near the gate. 
Form-work framed the rain-chains in the slate. 
How neatly they repair the wearing there.