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Not dank,

but warmed by the blood that coursed through Roman veins

Here, the leaf does not moulder, or the dentil decay.

Instead - enlivened, charged with life.

Such memories in stone echo the carvers mind.

Their molten thoughts - the predilection of an action, the forming of a movement, a glance-

and then the smash of the mallet, the spurt of stone and the hardening of the original intent into a form.

Such details

Shorn from rock.

Curated and established, berated and abandoned - then found again.

Now re-purposed into a hidden vault.

A vessel where secrets remain and life organic sustains.

For in the darkest corners

Lichen grows,

and amongst the lichen

A colour palette that only the Saxon knows.

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