ROYAL HILLSBOROUGH (Government residence in Northern Ireland)

A Church, a Street, a Celtic Cross,

A Palace on the Hill;

Old stone walls with lichen moss,

Fertile lands to till.


Long gone the carriages of the past,

To their journeys end;

Their wheels ethereal ruts have cast,

Where gates and history blend.


Stark stumps sprout on ancient trees

O’er graves of residents gone;

Where crows cruise with elegant ease,

At twilight and the dawn.


Lord Arthur Hill, now in your place;

Could you have foreseen?

The schisms at your seat of grace,

As advocates strut and preen.


The opulence of your Hallowed Hall,

Place of inspired conniving;

Solemn portraits adorning every wall;

Faces from the past surviving.


Each hour, the belfry bells doth toll,

As they’ve done since days of yore;

A reminder to each living soul,

Of those who are no more.


Monty Alexander 12.12.03

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