Canterbury

I see Canterbury in my palm
with a line of pilgrims pouring in hordes
down from past into present
mooring in thought
lodging in heart
their tells as fresh and new
yet founded and refined
like good aged wine
We sing we laugh
a raunchy joke
a naughty poke
their pig faced and angelic faces stare through the weathered pages
The ole sage new some graces
by bringing these souls into one place
and leaving them to their own devices
we watch them come and go
though they never know