The Church is an
Full- as with birds and beasts- of the souls of men,
Which are tiresome to deal with even in friendly weather,
And this church in particular is an
Poised above the hollow of a wave.
Swords have been drawn here, heads and hands hacked off,
Manhoods cut away
To fall with a squiggle and a slither-
And the power of the king is a long long, way down south.
In a place like this, then, it is all to the good
For the guiding hand of the father to be weathered and notched
And a little heavy in its application.
Love is not necessarily douce.
Can you think what it took
Through forty days of rain and forty nights of rain,
The under decks awash,
The unsaved bobbing by like white bellied fish
Adrift on the swell, to carry such a cargo-
Yip yip, yah yah, squawk squawk, go the souls-
All without loss to landfall under the rainbow?
Medieval Durham had the status of a County Palatine- and functioned as a quasi-independent city state under the rule of its Bishop,who bore- though never officially- the title of Prince.