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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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