Tip-toeing round the foreign church
I take a timid photograph
And wander up the aisles in search
Of interesting epitaphs.
I gaze about the gold and brass
Statues of angels, Christ and kings
And look around chromatic glass
To see what sentiments it brings.
At the side of the church, a board
Commemorates its martyred men,
With photographs and sacred swords.
I could almost insist “amen”
Before returning to the street
And the unwinding afternoon,
Where idle shoppers rest their feet
And above blue skies lurks the moon.