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The Mausoleum
On an island that used to rule the world,
by sailing the seven seas with sails unfurled,
an outcrop known as East Anglia sits,
home to Suffolk, where our attention shifts,
traversing the thin winding Suffolk lanes,
to Felsham, inaccessable by trains.
Three sided village green with it's redundant pump,
leading to Mausoleum Hall's gates, over the speed bump,
drive straight past the Hall to the fields at the end of the drive,
walk into the right field, let the fresh air keep you alive,
in the centre of this field is a crumpled structure,
where is it said the spirit of dead witches stir,
as witches they could not be buried on hallowed ground,
so an alternative burial site had to be found.
There is a restlessness about the trios mausoleum,
you can feel it all around the tomb of the threesome,
even in the shape of the jagged, crumpled wall,
setting your teeth on edge and making you feel small,
this is during the day, not the hours of darkness,
which is when some say you can hear chants to possess,
only two voices can be heard trying to steal your soul,
maybe one spirit is settled, or waiting with a darker role.
Copyright © Calliope 2003
