York in Poetry: 800 Voices

Posted on 24 November 2012 | Poem, Audio

We bought our voices from the King,
paid honest money for what we knew
to be ours. Wool and wine, we traded
blood and sweat, signed our names
in Tadcaster stone, high into clouds,
cast shadows to the walls and beyond
horizons. Merchants, adventurers,
brothers in mystery, we beat paths
to lands not yet named, and home.

Our feet rattle centuries on worn gates
after the last ghost walkers have gone,
rest at the grate behind tight shutters
as we pull on pipes, raise free voices,
throw down coins and speak as we find.

- Oz Hardwick