The Priory

The church I see from my lounge window

THE PRIORY

 

I see what’s left of you from my window,

Ravaged by an adulterous King,

Seat of religion, of medieval learning,

How many angels dance on the head of a pin?

 

Did the Prior and monks despair?

Maybe they prayed to Saint John de Thwing,

When the wreckers came to tear you apart,

Oh, the greed and malice of a King.

 

It’s hard to imagine it now,

You’re just a quiet parish church,

As to your few dozen aged parishioners,

It’s for a heavenly King they search.

 

Author's Note

Yet another early attempt at verse. I would appreciate any comments; many thanks.