St Nectan’s Glen
A Dorset ‘Glen’, well, who’d have thought?
And full of Legend’s mist
Kind Arthur and his Knights nearby
Here Guinevere was kissed!
The gushing water falls like time
A fast and foaming swell
Yet like spaghetti -strands of life
Such stories they can tell!
St. Nectan lived and died right here
A Hermit to the last
His silver bell rang out to warn
The Sailors sailing past.
Yet when the Romans came to fight
And conquer English folk
St Nectan threw the Bell away
A cursing, damning ‘saintly’ bloke!
St. Nectan’s Head still gushes blood
In shades of Autumn leaves
As teardrops, sunlight mingled, fall
Such stories one believes!
It is a Hemit’s place for sure,
For solitary reflection.
As loud as water pounds the rocks
It whispers introspection.
Last Staza replace with
What good to do? What good to think?
What mysteries are real?
And when you see the water fall
What do you really feel?