Take my hand
We will walk the forgotten lanes
Made for iron shod hooves
In the footsteps where sandaled feet
Of the lost legions followed the eagle standard
~
But I see you grow weary of beauty
Of the counterpane fields of green and gold
Miss Marple villages, soft in the twilight
Then come, down to the Romney Marsh
Where time is in tune with your deepest fears
~
We’ll take the old road to the Burmarsh Chimes
By the ruined church of St Augustine, silvered by moonlight
Where communion wine and the Free Traders Brandy barrels
Once rested side by side united under the Lords protection
Where the tolling bell called the dead to evensong
~
There, by the east wall of the Lady Chapel
Tear washed sentinels lean against the west wind
Underneath the wild thyme and harebells
Lay the sad bones of the forgotten children
Come, this is not the place to linger
~
Safe home under the oak beams of the White Heart
Amid farming folk with the smell of the land on them
Setting the stage for beery nostalgia
Sit here by the warmth of the fireside
While I tell you tales of the Night Riders.
