D.T.S. [Durham Tower Song]

Winter held these narrow streets,

spurned the earth and cut us deep,

pulled the purchase from our feet,

we found familiar halls.

Old Durham Tower, rising free,

strikes the skies ahead Spring,

and January’s kestrel leaps,

unfettered, from the walls.

Her shadow sweetly sweeping out,

her path described in light,

and yet forgotten of the foot that’s passing by.

I am a wanderer from out The West,

wayfaring bold through the wind and wet,

I’ve felt my fields dashed by storms,

felt the frost bind in my bones.

Far, far beyond the ashes of the evening,

we’ll meet again on steepled hills,

where erstwhile are we.

Gentle arches thread the sun,

each as seven-hundred years have done,

and weary hearts reflect upon,

the weight upon these stones.

It’s a matter of passion that brings me by,

to interplays of earth and light,

here’s to you, true friend of mine:

you’ll never walk alone.

All idle fear is far from here,

and all cascading through,

outspread fingertips trace the winds that race the blue.

Far below, the embering day,

has crowned the gabled roofs in flames,

and lengthy shadows walk the ways,

whatever they may bring.

Peace we sought as peaceful men,

as kestrels wheeling to The West,

recall me when she’s overhead,

in the rhythm of her wing.

“Softly lies the earth above,

and gently rest his bones”,

leave a living oak to stand, sacred to my ghost.

I am a wanderer from out The West,

wayfaring bold through the wind and wet,

I’ve felt my fields dashed by storms,

felt the frost bind in my bones.

Far, far beyond the ashes of the evening,

we’ll meet again on steepled hills,

where erstwhile are we.

To return to where,

bracken pollen browns my boots,

to living light between the reeds,

to feel the course of rivers rolling,

roaring into seas.

To waking amber of the evening,

gentle as a song,

and to vernal barricades,

shored up to the sun.