Winchester's Joan Poem by Francie Lynch

I went to Winchester again,
It's been forty years since back then,
When we were awed in the nave,
Stood over Jane Austin's grave,
And loved the irony of the golden St. Joan.
The chests are scattered with royal bleached bones,
The stained glass mosaic still shines,
And everything still seems the same.
I had perfect recall,
I remembered it all,
And returned my self-guided tour.
I bowed my head as I left
Through the refuge door exit,
And knew I'd be back no more,
For my memorial to you is so faded.