Old Sarum

Generosity, unchallenged fortitude

And a wealth of unrecorded history;

Flowers and birds and men with pointed hats;

Pretty girls with grave accordions

To accompany their songs of golden lads

Who will forever break their mothers’ hearts

And write the sweetest elegies known to man 

And die alone in droves for love of women 

Who died alone two thousand years ago.

Always late August, always half past five,

Dust and insects in a stagnant haze

Over the long grass where the bodies lie 

Unburied in a dream of perfect joy. 

We’re locked in honey here; we’ll never reach 

The bottom of the jar. When Jesus died 

It’s almost true to say the world rejoiced.

I was enchanted by your disbelief;

I want you fresh from hell and raw with grief.