Like Rosamund the Fair
I speed over Folly Bridge
like Alice
I look both ways
before crossing Speedwell Street
I'm not
as you see
an official guided walking tour
Like Fair Rosamund
I quickstep down Rose Place
like swift Alice
I skip across St Aldate's
the brainbox city
huffing and puffing in my ear
I'm not hurrying off
to visit a dozen harpsichords
or the church
where William Morris was married
or to see the remains of a dodo
I plan to read
not one
of the six million books
in The Bodleian
or admire a single dreamy spire
or stand in sombre silence
on the spot
where Latimer
Mortimer and Ridley
were roasted alive on god's turnspit
because I'm heading straight
for the heart
of this leather-bound city
where's there's good reason for shadows
where I'll find
panaceas of lavender
penny-royal and nettle
rose-petal potions
medicinal oak-scented valerian
balms and syrups of hollyhock
daffodil and milk-thistle
the Many-Leaf Pharmacy where
like the porpoise not the snail
I'm walking a little faster
waltzing like Rosamund the Fair
and Little White Alice
through the wards and waiting rooms
of The Physic Garden
earthy source of tincture and tisane
the help-yourself of nature
who wears a green coat
not a white
don't you agree?
...
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