Bronze Age ashes sleep to the north,
Roman coins whisper further south.
Down in Cragg Vale,
King David the counterfeiter
shaved gold by the candle's light.
The Mytholmroyd Bridge remembers
flooding at the Gallows Pole
and every hanged man's shadow
on York Tyburn stones.
Shared with dVerse Quadrille #250 – myth, where De Jackson sent me off to Wikipedia to search for information about Mytholmroyd, a place I’ve never heard of before.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 
Ah Tyburn, eerie, I love the sleep, whisper, light shadow interplay, makes for rich imagery.
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Thanks Paul 🙏 With a bit more work I could probably tighten it up more but today is another day and another poem already.
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😊 I know that feeling 😊
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Way to squeeze myth in there! Lots of shenanigans from old King David to the creepy gallows.
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Thanks Yvonne 🙏 I like discovering little stories like this 👍
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Love that subtle, gentle rhyme in this solemn ending. Beautiful.
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Thank you De 🙏
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Interesting poem created from a place you never heard of before. It was new to me as well.
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Thanks Truedessa 🙏 A reasonable result from the rabbit hole!
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Fantastic poem, Shaun! I’ve never heard of that place, either.
Yvette M Calleiro 🙂
yvettemcalleiro.blogspot.com
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Thanks Yvette 🙏
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Shaun, I love how your poem makes bridges, stones, and coins feel alive, as if they are sharing stories from long ago.
~David
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Cheers David 🙏
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🤗
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Interesting poem. Well done.
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Cheers Stew 🙏
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