Archive
08/13/11 - (3)
England
Heading northwest, from cloud-mottled London, Whose riots, though not touching us, Are assaulting the world's headlines, We arrive at Warwick Castle, with our guide, Enter the ruins of another tumultuous time, And listen in on history's cries, Conscious that we're treading on epochal soil.
Then we drive to Stratford-upon-Avon, Stop at the Hathaway farm cottage, in Shottery, Eavesdrop on Will Shakespeare courting Anne. Standing in Holy Trinity Church's chancel, Clasping hands, we hear the playwright, At the Reformation's gory denouement, Scratching, with quill pen, his stone's epitaph,
Warning today's youthful looting hooligans: "Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare, To digg the dvst encloased heare . . . And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." Back in our Stafford Hotel suite, after dinner, We enter the serenity of our peace-seeking eyes, Trusting that our love will change the future.
08/13/11 - (3)
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