A rural  four way stop 

Anonymous even to maps

Locals know  the name

But it’s rarely spoken

Except to strangers 

In search of ancestors

Long dead

She lived in this desiccated 

Place which was then alive

Plump with large farm families

Excited with the stage arrival

Delighted with births and weddings

Seared with  serendipitous death

It’s heart St Patrick’s it’s spire

And belfry A beacon and bell 

Heard and seen for miles

Built by men after endless

Field toil and honest sweat

Within its walls love joy  anger

Fear  loss  ecstasy and peace

Standing still a valiant marker

To a vanished hidden  past 

Now ministering  to a new found

Wealthy Flock  unaware of the

Gnarled and calloused hands

Who  built it lived it loved it 

and turned to dust so long ago

Who one by one  stole away 

Shamed at losing farms 

They could feed their families 

but not they’re loans

Gone furtively downcast

In search of city jobs