Wooded and winding in the road
That leads to the mystery church of Dode
Hiding high on Holly Hill
Holy then and holy still

At first they said “just a touch of ague”
But far, far worse a monstrous plague
“It won’t last long” the wise ones said
Hardly stopped speaking and they too were dead

Nobody left to mourn or to weep
The village of Dode had gone to sleep
Nobody left to work or to play
The farms and the cottages crumbled away

Joining the villagers under the clay
A tragic site of death and decay
But one little building then stood alone
Sturdily built of good Kentish stone

Amongst the trees and wild birdsong
It kept its silence for centuries long
‘Till music and laughter and sweet human voice
Told the stones to wake up and rejoice

This lovely church on its lovely hill
Was made with love and love’s made still

~ A Poem By ©Graham Clarke ~
www.grahamclarke.co.uk