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Baunton In January









With muddy boots and rucksacks

The walkers stepped within

The tiny church at Baunton

It surely was no sin

To gaze upon St Christopher

The travellers’ patron saint

His features warmly visible

In 14th century paint

Though time had colours faded

From their once vivid hue

The message still was clear to see

The meaning still shone through

Upon his sturdy shoulders

The Christ child safely borne

Across the raging torrent

Protected from the storm

The image faithfully rendered

‘Fore Shakespeare conjured words

And Man would leave the solid earth

To fly among the birds

Outside the walls lay snowdrops

Inside a quiet calm

The walkers left on tip toe

Lest carpets they should harm

In the porch a notice

To welcome a new priest

Soon to bring his flock along

To share in God’s great feast.

                                                                                                                                 January, 2009

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