In gilded, Gothic grandeur – th’heavens reached!
Ke’pha, his sainted keys ‘pon th’altar placed,
sends down colourful cranes of paper creased
to watch o’er York’s flock, wreathed in healing grace.
Sunfire shines glist’ning through the scriptured glass
to light the southern rose ‘n Yorkshire’s heart!
Saint Will’yum waits ’til final judgement’s passed.
A stone cries “Doom!” from out the cryptic dark…
As echoes break against the wooden roof,
their soundwaves coursing through the boundless nave,
a flame wicks mem’ry from the hand imbued
with pers’nal purpose – th’candle burns, engraved.
A short song, then, for thee – though might a tome
be writ’ to sing of each ‘n ev’ry stone!
Image credit – The Sun