Lincoln Cathedral Choir Poem by Roy Ballard

Once on a time we climbed Steep Hill and stood
before the quiet carvings in the choir.
For you loved poetry spelled out in wood:
the angels, pipes, the King, the drum, the lyre,
miserichords of toughened heart of oak…
Among these masterpieces, stall to stall,
each craftsman added his religious joke,
till plague arrived and put an end to all.
So here and there, some seats are chisel-spared,
abandoned, lumpen logs, or if you will
are limitless potentials, left prepared
for passing time and chance to try their skill.
One day we'll go again up that steep climb
for chance is quite as infinite as time.