St Peter's on the Wall

St Peter's on the Wall

St., Peter’s stands,
Full of centuried age,
In the midst of dreaming acres.
Surrounding the ancient stones,
Under green banks, are the remains
Of an even earlier occupation.
Othona’s Roman fort, guarding
The Saxon shore faced the same rushing waves.
The same salt-laden gales
Which sang their wild song
Chill the ears of pilgrims
Of the present day as they tread
The path to antiquity and
The time-worn stones of sanctity.

A strange piece of electronic art by Sylvia

Not exactly professional!!!

Autumn

Crisp autumn mornings give me something of my childhood;
The chill in the air, the sun bright-shining,
Diamond-strung cobwebs on garden growth,
And dew-sparkling grass, touch some hidden cord
Which reaches back through time
To that distant happiness. They rouse the wish
To trample rustling leaves deeply lying in their
Red-gold masses under glorious trees,
Trees ripe for climbing in those far off days
Before the turmoil of newly attained adulthood
Swept away the child's world
Into the fine-wrought halls of memory.

The Way Into the Wood