by Jon Hamp
She softly speaks.
And we listen.
The cows eat the hedge.
Insects hum a symphony
of the high beams,
held above us by silence,
and words add new strength to old structure,
as carers and uncaring,
and broken and mended,
are safely gathered in.
And our collective breath builds an organ
within this good curve of good earth.
Towards our dome of branches.
And frail as string,
a blackbird picks a tune.
So may shells at our feet,
below those waves of grass,
whisper our stories back.
As cows eat hedge, insects hum, and the blackbird picks a tune.
Kelston Roundhill and Roundhill Barn 
i
i am wanting to contact Jon Hemp.
you wrote that beautiful poem you read at my brother Craig’s memorial. I have the poem beside me.
i found it profoundly moving.
i would like to read more of your poems which may inspire some new paintings.
i have used poetry in the past, to set off new ideas.
thankyou so much for your reading of your poem.
Myra Gallicker ne Kenyon