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Abbey Ruin (St Benets Abbey, Norfolk)

Tall the abbey tower,
Now with no bell to call
Through a perfect arch to nowhere,
But a crumbling abbey wall.

Wind whispers lonely evensong
To high descant of a lark,
As it soars above the oaken cross,
Oh enduring, Holy mark.

Ageless by that river,
Time's ceaseless, silent flow,
Forsaken paths the ancients trod,
Ten centuries ago.
Patrick Ladbrooke
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: ruins
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
It's there, on the river Bure in Norfolk
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COMMENTS
Kumarmani Mahakul 05 November 2014
Wind whispers without fear, still water flows as river's tear, Birds fly with steer and sheer. Nice poem written poet dear. Let us read and dance in cheer.
0 0 Reply

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