“The morning mist clings low, a spectral shroud, Engulfing Egglestone, where shadows brood,
These weathered stones, once vibrant, strong and proud, Now stand as silent sentinels, subdued,
No chanting monks disturb the tranquil air, No bells proclaim the passing of the hour,
Just whispers carried on the gentle prayer Of wind through leaves, a melancholy power.
Here, hand in hand with love, we softly tread, Across the hallowed ground where faith once bloomed.
Imagination paints the scenes long dead, As ghosts of piety in these ruins loomed.
I see the cloistered lives, the austere grace, The flickering candlelight on faces worn.
A dedication etched upon each face, A life for God, a world forever sworn.
And yet, a human touch, a lover’s sigh, Escapes the weight of centuries that bind
Though empires rise and fall, and kingdoms fade, Love’s ember flickers, defying time’s decree.
In Egglestone’s embrace, a vow is made, A whispered promise, meant for you and me.
So let the ruins stand, a testament, To faith and love, in this eternal dance.
In weathered stones, a silent monument, Where history whispers, given a second chance.”