Michael Coy Poet Rhyme

Circumspice 1

Part 1 - London's Medieval Minster

Cathedrals come, cathedrals go, 
but none impresses or enthralls 
(summer drought or winter snow, 
sparkling springs or foggy falls) 
quite like the Church of Old Saint Paul's. 

Six hundred years this marvel stood, 
surviving earthquakes, wars and fires: 
vaulting not of stone, but wood, 
with one of Europe's tallest spires, 
so plainly seen from eastern shires. 

The doors of transepts north and south 
(the shorter "arms", that is to say) 
were never closed. Each monstrous mouth 
admitted strollers, night and day, 
like Shakespeare, off to see a play. 

But nothing lasts. All things must pass. 
No permanence is ever found. 
Grief follows joy. All flesh is grass. 
First, the mighty spire was downed, 
then the roof (by now unsound) 
was razed completely to the ground.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment