Tissington Poem by Martin Ward

Tissington:
a thanksgiving
for evolution.

Whilst the world
bustles and scurries,
Tissington remains:
boundless in beauty;
exquisitely the same.
Changing only
by blink of the eye,
rotation of crop,
or season of bloom.

Cocooned by history
and loving hands,
this congenial fiefdom
of FitHerbert lines,
traces unbroken
through time.

Royal in loyalty;
steadfast it remains:
quintessentially English,
though scion of
The Conqueror's Line.

May the sentinel
of limes long remain,
to form a guard
of welcome
to this place.

We who settle
as mortal dust,
caress on rarest
of occasions,
such havens
of delight as this,
when brushing past.

It is of comfort to know
that the gentle crystal rivulet
shall flow through here
and kiss each stone
to honour nature
and loveliness
forever.