Perched above the busy masses
Old Nick looks down,
grinning like a coyote,
inspiring arched eyebrows
and pimpled tongues in the labeled herd,
satisfied his court be full.
As glad he was when St Mary's burned
in the three night blitz
of old Swansea town.
Sit firm devil,
listen to the drinkers song
and fish slapped sounding feet of visitors,
a relic of legend
brewed from bitter hands,
smile from your lofty sanctuary...
@Steven Francis poems 2009
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