THE ROSE AND THE POMEGRANATE

THE ROSE AND THE POMEGRANATE

In the leafy lane where St Edburgha's stood,

And on Stonystret, where the tiler fired his clay,

Arthur and Catherine walked in Allesley wood.

The sun shone bright on that fine summer’s day.

***

A love pure and fresh, letters in Latin sent,

From a Prince, to his young Spanish maiden.

Through the maze of heady lavender scent,

In an English, Catholic Church garden.

***

There’s a secret door where the future Queen,

Within St Edburgha's she could pray.

The rose and the pomegranate can still be seen,

Henry's reformation couldn't wipe away.

***

The ancient village of Gyrdleahe has hold,

Of a love story from the far off Tudor age.

Prince Arthur and Catherine of Aragon never told,

By Shakespeare’s quill on his Sonnets, parchment page.

***

In Ludlow’s church, Arthur's heart is kept,

The poor lover who should have been king,

Would Catherine, who became Henry's Queen, have wept?

Would the country folk, his name still sing?

***

Gyrdleahe is now Yardley, the place where I do live,

Stonystret is Stoney Lane, walked on by centuries of people.

St Edburgha's, its shady gardens still tranquilest peace give,

The rose and pomegranate door, love signposted by the steeple.

Phil Hall  April 2013