How many hands caressed these ancient stones where now ivywort creeps? Beauty in timeless peace. How many hymns of praise arose and graced this place? Now filled with songs of birds. Sparrows seen by You fearlessly approach. A reminder that You see me. I sit midst ancient ruins warmed by sun sheltered by weathered walls soaking Your presence - more evident here than by golden altars and priestly tours. Long worn tombs of Saints surround the sky a roof, yet these ruins are not dead - they teem with life. flowers spill from brick's veins and music all around. God is here, not mocked by missing walls, but sits with us on grassy carpets enjoying the song of sparrows and our hearts.