The First Fruit of Spring

The tiny church was alone.
An early morning dawn enveloping.
But unlocked I sat awhile
In my sight one bowl of daffodils
The first of this year
Very still. Perfect.
Distant, shapeless.
And behind the planed leaded window
A glimpse of white sky and free.
No sound, a distant call.
No sight, no movement.
Time stopped still.
But I could not resist
And move forward
Now each flower, petal, stem stood and sharply focussed.
But beyond through the window
an ancient tilting gravestone.
Now time moved forward again
The moment of still peace gone.