Trumpington Street Poem by Ben Littlechild

Silent runs the conduits pace,
A danger to cars and bicycles that race.
No longer bringing water to the poor,
Up ahead the colleges and more.

Glistening, the pavement enchants,
Wobbly and old under reaching branch.
Many feet have travelled this path,
Each with their own stories and craft.

Stone lions, proud and full of grace
Await the crowds and camera face to face.
Guarding the FItzwilliam, this their place
Full of treasure, gold and silver laced.

Old Addenbrookes, a ghost of the past,
Its shadow, it still casts.
No longer for the ill and to be kind,
But to engage the future and expand the mind.