Christ Church, Chorleywood

An ancient church, from the look of the stones,
A mixture of grey and off-white tones.
And yet it isn't really old,
Much less than two hundred years I'm told.
Even the tower, the oldest bit,
On which a spire was made to sit,
Despite its looks, still doesn't clear
It's one hundred and eightieth year
The Junction, of course, is very new,
Recently added as Christ Church grew.
The cypress tree gives lots of shade,
With sweeping branches, majestic and staid.
Which almost touch the earth below,
And with each passing year will grow.
Tombstones are scattered all around
Spouting up from grassy ground.
Some are oldish, it is true,
But many others  are quite new.
And there's room for many more,
To be buried there before
The graveyard's full and it's the case,
There is simply no more space.