On the day for Ashes,
Memories of last night’s firelight
Bright behind our eyes,
We tentatively pushed open the old door
At St Issui’s.
It was a welcome haven
After several miles of twisting, muddy lanes,
The path bordered by nodding snowdrops.
The simple chapel, its wooden beams pegged safely together for several centuries
Was shelter enough for these pilgrims.
Inside, signs of worship for many generations,
The oldest font in Wales by the church door.
Now twice a month the feast is celebrated here
And rural folk give thanks for renewed blessings.
Our visit over, rested,
We stepped back through the lych gate,
Passed the well
And back into real time,
Ready to reset our lives in the next forty days.

In our life and our believing
The love of God