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Life goes on
Beside St Catherine’s hill, the river Itchen,
Parapets and tower stand stonily in the mire
No spire soars upward, yet God is still admired
Of Wintonian water meadows. Sheltered
In Oram’s arbour, rows of Georgian villas
Where bees find nectar in the bougainvillea
Look genteely downenevolently down on the town.
Jane Austen lies in peace, amongst the Saxon kings
Within the cathedral walls.
We look up at the Rose window.
Above, the peregrine falcons raise their young,
Secure high amongst the gargoyles, but watched by webcam.
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