Barnard Castle

Where once I saw the world fresh as dandelion snuff

The cobwebs crept in

And wrapped the struggling parcels of memory

As Miss Haversham’s spiders

Wrapped her bride cake.

This place became a lace of rotted flags

And sulphrous footsteps,

Where Gothic novels roamed the echoing stairwells

And licked their fly-papered lips.

But time picked up the sable brush

And spread a wash of clean water

Lolling in the hollows of the cotton-ragged stones

And silvering the sky.

And I saw the bright sun

In the spring sky

And breathed fresh air again.