An ode to a ruined shell
I wonder if you could use this photo along with the poem I have written about Guy’s Cliffe.
Where once my halls echoed to laughter
Sits a lonely raven on a rotting rafter
My windows that shone with candlelight
Are now empty eyes that have no sight
Fine carriages once drove to my proud towers
That now grow weeds and a few wild flowers
For I am cursed and scorched and blackened
And overgrown with creeping bracken
No mortals dwell within these walls
Just ghosts now roam these empty halls
But proud and empty I still stand
The Guardian of Guy of Warwick’s land
On the Avon’s banks I’m a ruined shell
Whose hidden secrets no man shall tell
No more will I give warmth or shade
Just a sentinel in a sheltered glade.
- John Payton, Kettlewell Close, Woodloes Park