We live where others have walked before
This blood-soaked land holds memory.
Walk barefoot, feel history seep into your skin
King Henry with his battle against the monastery
Leaving a scar on the landscape.
Broken walls and towers remain standing
The Holy Thorn can still be seen
Sheltered by Abbey walls.
The hill at Glastonbury where monks
were hung for sins imagined
Walk the hill, feel the shame of hands
that destroyed for fame, for money.
Don’t forget the Holy places
where water ever flows, healing those who visit,
if only by mind changed when they leave
The land will be here long after we are gone
With more scars and stories to tell
Will someone record the history of where we walked?
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