A Poem for Wymondham Abbey

The Abbey in Wymondham has a rich and eventful past. A church has been on the site for over 1000 years and over that time it has become steeped in the society of the time. I’d like to think that the spirits of the past, life of each era, call out from the stonework across the cemetery to the centre of town where the historic Market Cross stands. Even further still, to Ketts Oak, a symbol of rebellion and enduring character of the people who call Wymondham their home.

The Abbey.

Two towers of two ideals adorning the skyline

A monastery of mayhem

Where monks and townspeople worship



A lion on a Normandy crest

Foreign masonry upon English land

Soil seeped in wealth, in unfamiliar mineral.


Gilded reredos, collage to the Great

To the tiers of Saints, yet unfinished.

Scent of prayer hang lightly with mere mortals,

Far below the heights of lead & corbels of angels.


No prayer, no bid could undo the ruin of time,

A hanging place, a place for lightening bolt and

Rebellion’s noose.



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