Monday, 11 April 2011

Old Country March


The dead have left Glastonbury.


Stone faces proud and brave


Above the abbey archways


Have lost their memory


But smile euphoric


Like an old drunken beauty


Above her ruined body of walls.


A short road


Took all day to walk.


We hoped to find


Around the next corner


Graves of men and women


Who were born and lived and died.


But only found a sign


Saying an ancient king


May be buried here.


I knelt to touch iron cats


Waiting to scrape boots at a doorway


Needing something to follow me home.


The sun a high and golden crown


Seeing everything, again


Made me think I should feel warm


But I didn't, it was cold.


Outdoors caving us in, we climbed.


I battle to find an easier path


And the sky line is long


But I see nothing


But land bitten and sucked dry


By tribes who want too much.


I turned away


And wondered instead


Of the story you'll tell me


When you come down.


And I see that we are


A bigger place than this.



2011



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