Written for Magpie Tales
Set apart from the townsfolk
of Manchester,
they stand as fortresses,
remnants of an old castle,
but not as majestically
The circular columns
brandished heavy stones,
moved with bare hands,
by the people
With mortar they built
welcoming pillars for
fellow countrymen,
a stronghold to the city,
to keep away
certain 'ne'er do wells'
and sinister enemies
Soldiers once gathered weapons,
fought there during the great war;
many a winter,
grain and staples inside were stored
Early dawn draws a shroud
of dim pink fog over the village
Cow bells ring as business
of the King begins to hum
Beasts of burden carry
fresh wares to market
People awake,
leave their crowded homes
with multiple chimneys,
trod to work or to
the ancient towers
as sanctuary,
where they still stand ghostly
in morning's light
As reminders
of the power of faith,
townsfolk make
the daily trek,
a distance of .5 mile,
to pray for redemption
and forgiveness of sins,
to gain hope for
better times and health
Therein
lies their strength, having
the will to not only survive,
but to thrive
