Cotswold Stone

The gale has flung its Severn salt Against our walls for centuries, A joking sculptor with clubbed hands That pock and scar the Cotswold stone. Woodsmoke stains. Lichen dapples Delicately, yellow and gray. Moss grows headstrong through our town, Across the face of Cotswold stone. Across the mason's furrowed lines The great stone sill has split. With rule and level, hammer, chisel, They built our town for centuries; The secret masons with agile hands Shaped squared-off blocks of Cotswold stone. Now their blocks are smooth and round, The martins build their nests in cracks, And Cotswold stone will catch and hold The summer's dusk for winter's night. The masons ruled the squares and cut That stone might live, exhaling light.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK