No ball games
On ancient bricks,
Viynl chips the brittle
Sandstone. Base of
the tower, grand old
lady in goal.
With every shot she
Neither dives or jumps.
Static, still and almighty.
800 years can stop
more then a football.
History patched
and quilted in to
brickwork.
Cathedral
Published October 28, 2009 Poetry , Prosody , Thoughts , creative writing , poem , verse Leave a CommentTags: poem, creative writing, Poetry, creative, writing, verse, Prosody, cathedral, green, balls, football, erosion, games
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