Llanthony

The wagtails anyway looked lively
and the freshly shorn sheep were bleating.

The place was deserted. The monks long gone;
the car park empty; the hotel closed.

Only a very old couple were limping
in the skeleton of Llanthony Priory:

the walking wounded…
I put a spring in my step; felt a twinge

in my back, a cold wind on my neck.
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near?

Ah –
but wasn’t it lovely –

 

i_Llanthony (3)


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