It's true what they say
About poems, nature, death and life.
Pausing for thought whilst looking for
Scientific heroes amongst rhythm of stones
The musical notes of poetic meter
The names of my City churches muttered:
Some gone and half forgotten:
Saint Antholin, Benet, Dionis, All Hallows.
The people moved in death by
A vigorous space needing City
The magpie approaches
Drawn by my stillness
Looking for life under leaves
His glisten of blue-black-white
Like marble enlivened, shrieks.
The oblivious bee pauses
Hovers and vanishes
A fleeting meeting of buzz and Ethel
Sweetness over Geranium robertianum
And earthly detritus
The squirrel scratches up the tree
Flickingly shy, peering at me
Whilst other sounds bring the stones alive
The irony is I'm looking for naturalists
And they're here, still, looking at nature
Written for the 16th Century Lime Street Naturalists who were moved to the City of London Cemetery in the 1900s.