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 