Untitled for Others 8 – Wychwood
Whisper the past,
Muse on the past.
A Saxon burial, a Roman street.
Beneath the soil lost stories to the invader’s drumbeat.
Rustle in the leaves.
Centurion leaves.
Ancient woodland, a Roman retreat.
A walkway never winding now obsolete.
Secrets under the comfrey and bark,
Secrets forfeit below primeval landmark.
The life that is gone lingers Sotte Voce ere long
Distant memories trickle down in the leafy ghost-town.
Traced in the Domesday, how time flees
Majestic forest of ancients, their stories on the breeze.
Whisper the past,
Muse on the past.
A Saxon burial, a Roman street.
Beneath the soil lost stories to the invader’s drumbeat.
An empire grieves,
Centurion leaves.
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