Long, long ago and far, far away
Built on a cliff, next to the sea
Was a glorious city, fabulously wealthy
With marvellous gardens, tall trees
Terraces and walkways of marble, quartz encrusted
The most wonderful thing was the cathedral
Inside all was heavy with gold and jewels
However it's a fact of all cities
That along with the rich, there were many more poor
Whom those with money totally ignored
Those well off, often went to the cathedral
Not to worship, but to see and be seen
To show off their riches in jewellry and clothing
And to comment bitchily on what others were wearing
Now one priest, the only one, true to his calling
Cried out, when alone, to the powers that be
Beyond all belief, one day he was answered
If they change in thirty days, I'll spare the city
But sad to relate, this did not happen
No-one believed the priests tale
Or changed one iota, he was thrown into prison
And the poor remained poor
So it came to pass, on the thirtieth night
There occured the most ferocious storm
The worst ever in all history
The sea arose right up the cliff
Smashing at the rocks, till they fell away
Dragging the city down in bits
Only the cathedral fell as a whole
And most of the people were drowned
Except, strange to relate the poor and the priest
Though how this happened isn't told
But now when bards tell the story
Say at the end, on stormy nights, listen carefully
For is you do, above the wild weather
You can still hear the bells of the cathedral.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem