Church Lane End

Superb to see that splendid spire

pierce through the billowed chestnut choir,

pink blossom splashed on railway green

as in a Rupert Annual scene.

The spire points up to the sky

and that is where some batsmen try

to drive the ball, though not one strike

has ever found that iron spike.

But still we hope to bang the slats

and wake the hanging belfry bats,

or loose into the graves a thwack

where none will rise to chuck it back.