A seat of learning where the wise monks read
Their treasured books on how to live like saints,
And drew pictures of Christ in vivid paints,
To prove, to them, their Lord was far from dead.
A fort of refuge for all who dared
To seek a place far from the oppressor,
Or simply in need of a confessor,
Who listened patiently as if he cared.
Till King Henry split the English nation
In mad search of the second papal throne;
A quest of rubble, demolished stone
That shook our faith in the reformation.
As real faith and stone are turning shabby,
Tourists flock to this now ruined abbey.
© Copyright 2016 Bert Broomberg. All rights reserved.
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