A Tourist In My Own County

The Eagle pub and all that beer
Heroes of the Battle on each wall
Their names in candle-smoke so dear
They fought for One and All.

Racing at Newmarket all day long
And long the Odds on Angels’ Voices eachway bet
To stuff an empty wallet with a song.
But as it came in third on whistling wings my smile did set.

Photographs on Kings Parade a Mass of people by our side
While inside Hallowed Halls a Ruebens hangs in sacred pose.
King of Kings a baby then and yet to speak or stop the tide.
On the walls and coloured glass are crowns and griffins, dog and rose.

Rupert Brooke, oh Rupert Brooke, in your orchard we did sit
And cry a tear when reading yet again ‘The Soldier’.
But ‘Grantchester, oh Grantchester’ did make us fly, a flame was lit
And Church clock at the stroke of ‘1’ did chime ‘Yes’ to your question.