A Country Churchyard
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
from "Elegy Written in a ountry Churchyard" by Thomas Grey


Best Regards, Larry.
All the gear & no idea.


Best wishes,
Andrew
"These places mean something and it's the job of a photographer to figure-out what the hell it is."
Robert Adams
"The camera doesn't make a bit of difference. All of them can record what you are seeing. But, you have to SEE."
Ernst Hass
My website: http://www.ephotozine.com/user/bwlchmawr-199050 http://s927.photobucket.com/home/ADC3440/index
https://www.flickr.com/photos/78898196@N05
coker
13 yearsMember
Wiltshire
And is beautifully enhanced by this image, Andrew.
Thanks for letting us see.
Coker.
The more I look, the more there is to see!