In a Green Friar car park a professor turns the key - his engine shudders - falls mute.
Leaning classword into the wind, his footfalls cover the echoes of the lethal chaos beneath his feet - masking the curses of proud Richard struggling to keep his saddle.
Then, in a whirlwind of swords, the final Rose of Lancaster falls in slow motion to the Leichester earth - merging with the primal dust.
The professor's archaeologists have arrived for the dig and Richard's bones begin to stir.
I had taken this poem done for complete modeling and here it is again.