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?