The pinnacle…
Follow the lights and you will find the gold.
A Severn wind rattles the soul,
Rain like pins my face a cushion.
Edifice a vision, wooden windows a fact,
a collection of faces glued in community,
Now divided again by scheme-funded foolery.
To escape is to renounce
Only with strength comes intrinsically.
As thrust upon pages turn,
A dying side street lives
on the ensign of principality!
