CRYFIELD GRANGE
©Trev Teasdel Warwick University March 1972


Cryfield Grange,
Feeling so strange,
as I wander by your woody borders
That cradles the spilling, joyous sun.


Morningside walk,
Leaves whisper and talk.
Breeze tells his tales,
of dark’s sable deeds.
I wander ‘long humanly lonely lanes.
Hold hands with peace and beauty.


Kenilworth Castle
Stonewall upholder of the sky,
Nephew of old Atlas,
His cross to bear, to be there, till he dies.


As I wander by your turrets tall,
Beneath the sun,
Refracting a single blade of light,
To light the lamps of love-light,
in the damp cells of the night.


Airport lounge,
Hate’s on the scrounge.
Love rears its fists to fear
But will not strike him here.
Wander ‘cross carpets of love.