To a host of special days
Welcomed by serfs who used to till
The fields or watch beasts graze.
Their lives were brutish, harsh and short
Famine and disease were rife;
Such holy days were dearly bought
And precious in their life.
The Reformation swept the board;
The Church no longer holds full sway
And those with funds can now afford
To travel on Ascension Day.
Who thinks of Christ’s ascent to God -
His holy mission done?
Or even gives a cursory nod?
Religion’s on the run.
I can’t help feeling that we’ve lost
Somewhere down the line
Our simple spirit; and the cost
Will cause our soul’s decline.
Written in 2007
* Belgium
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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