Where am I? And…who am I?
A pearl of great price set above a vale of gold,
There the quiet girl waits for you amongst her sheep.
To reach her you must pass through the wooden gates
Mysteriously missed by Henry’s men, into the inner holy place.
She gazes at the Tree of Life, its rainbow radiance
Mirrored in the meadows where she stands,
A flapper nymph and saint, cradling the sacred space.
Westwards lies the city where old scholars mapped the world
And three choirs sing at Lammastide,.
Here you are nothing,
Feel the chance, like her, to throw your fables in the fire
And go for broke,
This place is ever hidden, ever open
It smells of truth and of