Old Rocks Nested in Outcrops

Between rocks, you can see

The millennium bridge, swaying

Gently over the lost land

Carved out by erosion, my side

Crinkles under the strain. Salted

Decaying, masonry muscles

Over centuries they came

In search of a king, a miracle man

Draped in the dye of shellfish

A deep blue crushed on ships

Sailed through the gates, from a sea

Almost landlocked, to gift tin

The mines are closed now, never

Leaden by labour more than then

When we were asked to take

Byzantine gifts laid claim to trade,

Routes through which we came east

On the wind of emperors, dwindling

The ruins of a myth, a promontory

A bear was not born here, ‘Artur’

King of ocean storms, of mist

Forgive me, I am a literal-ist

Broken down by granite blocks

With little space for epic tales

Yet here we stand, masonry

Perched on a cliff, signal posts for

Missing links spanned by a bridge

Photo by Mike Erskine on Unsplash

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