On Weaver’s Bank, the children played
The sheep in quiet contentment grazed.
The cathedral bells have proudly rung
The choristers the Psalms have sung.
Down Abbey Street, past house and shop
The horses’ hooves clip-clop clip clopped.
Through Abbey Gate, they’ve come and gone
The panoply of Life goes on…
Where a queen would hunt for hare
The water’s flooded everywhere.
The paths, the road millworkers built
Are covered now in mud and silt…