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Visiting An English Tavern
These stones in their gray gloom
framed by rotting timber
loom not with foreboding
rest haven like
invite me to visit
Kings and
death was one on one
a glass of ale
raised a toast to one's soul
The wayfarer stopped here with
a flourish of coach and horses
children still mingle faces smudged
in tattered browns and grays
echoes of the faceless monks
intone the liturgical past acceptance
was a pact with God
poverty its repentance
From the dark recesses
through the ancient window
particles of light
form the mystical bridge
there is a pull to the source
a pale still wonder
Jack Mashman
Rev. 1994 |
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