THE LADY OF THE CELLARS

I am cold, my Lord Courtesy

The chill has cracked my gloves

My lord’s no want of service

And so I am to sit with Spanish red

Abandoned to my own device

Maid to wander lonely swirling rubble

Claim poisoned hearts and woodland double

My trail of tears now revered rain, converged to Crane Innocent scars tattoo my wrist

My walk sky-grey, dress gleaming silver

My face aimless as evening mist



For I gazed at your Meduse

She left me standing in the cellars

In cold arms of Christ, my lady

Only your pups may face me

They came pursuing poachers

They found my skirts in scullery

A fateful few discovered me

On heaven’s doorstep hear their shrieks

On Dunstan’s altar I watch with pride

Your rest eternal, I am no spectre

I am protector

Let me serve again, Elizabeth

Babes cry Jane Grey in darkened halls

My name imprints within your walls



For I gazed at your Meduse

She left me waiting in the cellars

A frozen shrine, unbroken mould

Free my soul, my lord,

For I am cold