The Minster bells were
ringing as I strolled along the lane,
Cobbled streets were shining freshly polished by the rain.
Thanks to baskets hanging, a perfume filled the air,
It took my mind to longing for bygone fare
That certain sense of
history floating in the breeze,
Helped the pungent scent of mystery billow in with ease.
From a doorway came a tune, a solitary flutist there,
No English heart could be immune to all that blended there.
The veils of time seemed
innocent, no secrets hidden here,
This ancient wall benevolent willing sonneteer.
I sensed that which had gone before when history was made.
Romans, Vikings, many more countless escapade.
Thus exuding from these
walls was honest heralding,
Here lies the answer to our calls, why our destining.
Our gene pool has within it our history and more,
Now I know I must admit, I am what has gone before.
I look forward now with
confidence I see the way is clear,
For we are the confluence of all that happened here.
The Minster bells were ringing as I strolled along the lane,
Now my heart is singing I know from where I came.