Ancient city, built up brick by keystone brick,
foundation to crenallation,
sweat, blood and time.
It rises in the landscape,
steep gradient, fit only for sheep to climb
bathed in summer sun.
remnant of earlier lives,
where the whispers of the past
resound roundly in mote and bailey.
A short poem exploring Old Sarum, an interesting place rich in history which I’ve enjoyed visiting since I was a little girl.