St Govan's Chapel (Poetry)

Almost lost in shadow,
tucked safe inside the rock’s deep cleft,
the chapel blends its greys,
crouching, solemn in survival,
neither colour to distract
nor symbol to attract the eye’s attention,
the long-dead architect intent
on keeping worldliness at bay,
wrought solely for utility
as shelter for a pious man to pray in —
just room enough to dedicate his soul
at a small altar — little more than that —
and at his door, the sea.

Clamped to the limestone cliff-edge,
shaken by the waves
and rocked by every storm for centuries,
it hoards its holy bones
and the memory of Saint Govan at its heart
as the ocean’s choir of voices sing
familiar songs unchanging since
he listened to the squalling wind
and called on God to save
all men in peril,
his simple life eked out, austere
but rich in spirit, landmarked by
this quietly stubborn shell.