Where the lanes of the old chancery Cross gutters like Christ With holes in hands Some thousands of years;
Where the barren and brittle Cast needles in hay From dawn till dusk Some thousands of years;
Where the poets, they dreamt Of slow dancing in halls Collapsing to dust Some thousands of years;
What hope there was we could not tether For nothing we loved was loved forever.
21st of December 2015, “Chancery Lane.”














