Friday, 25 March 2011

Pooley Hall

Burdened under it’s own weight
Remaining walls hunch tight,

No hunting hounds howl, nor boars squeal,
Words of war, knaves and knights lie

Collapsed seams groan no more, exhausted.
The Plover's wings flutter where Kings’ Standards Once flew
Only morning dew offers the hint of a glint of Cockayne’s sword
It's simple truth vanquished in mortal duel.

The Hall finds its place and
Takes it's turn.

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