Over a rickety bridge
And down a sneaky green lane
Sits a little jewel
With an ornamental name
St Mark's is yellowed stone
And in a crumbling state
An old monastery with
The name script finely on plate
Hallowed corridors still remain
Where men in prayer filed by
Flagstones smoothed in steps
Sacred words were often sighed
Curved arches about to give up on age
And become stony heaps upon the floor
Who looked through that window once
I wonder what view they saw
Clinging ivy hugs the skeleton of the doorway
Now tired and peering out a sad profile
The private corners where they spoke to Him
And then rested for a while
You can see the borders of the old vegetable plots
Where they harvested nourishing food
Possessions were seldom kept
Their good health was admirably rude
This beautiful place always brings serenity to me
As I walk about and breathe the air they dwelled
Running my fingers over their enduring love
A tranquil harmony is spelled