A-shambling through the queue.
Yah nough, don’t yuh?
Brick bears beams bear rooftiles.
The stained-glass panes, that stretched to reach the heavens, shone.
Sunfire shines glist’ning through the scriptured glass to light the southern rose ‘n Yorkshire’s heart!
Bucolic ruins; gardens sloped – onward, t’ward streets cobbled!
A bird of prey, at hov’ring height, doth herald.