Westminster Abbey Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Cascades of tourists tick their targets off:
The Mall, Buckingham Palace, Nelson's Column
This global seat of power, this heart of London.
'Mors Mihi Lucrum' (Death is gain to me)

Westminster Abbey stops them in their tracks
Kings, statesmen, soldiers; poets here a-plenty
There's not a space in Westminster that's empty
'Mors Mihi Lucrum' (Death is gain to me)

Priests, heroes, villains all are buried here
Over one million visitors each year
Stream in to gawp, to savour and explore
'Mors Mihi Lucrum' (Death is gain to me)

Monarchs, musicians, authors, politicians
The Tudor queens, the unknown warrior,
The coronation chair, all shriek of Time
'Mors Mihi Lucrum' (Death is gain to me)

And every corner crammed with tombs and plaques,
Mary Queen of Scots in her laced ruff
Evensong service - Tourists love that stuff
'Mors Mihi Lucrum' (Death is gain to me)

I think at night they sally from the door
Distinguished ghosts, those long extinguished dead,
To float above the Thames, masked by the fog
Bone-breathings from each stiff and stately bed