Arts
STOCKBRIDGE LOVERSLifting over George StreetWith the Castle to your back, See Fife on the horizonSilhouetted all in black;Pass Thistle Street,And Queen Street,Then Gardens left and right,Then wonder at the lawyers’ rowThat stretches out of sight;The cut stone and the palace fronts,The lampposts and the rails,Where each townhouse is a landmark,With their chronicle of tales;But there is no time to linger,The journey is half-done,As the black and shining cobbles Each pulsate against the sun;Turn down Royal Circus,Two halves, a perfect whole,A symmetrical precisionThat animates the soul;Then pass the beckoning curve,Of Royal Circus Lane,With its carriage homes and flagstones,That imprint upon the brain;While the gentle slope will lead you,Inexorably down,Towards the running water, Which boundaries the town;To stand above the river,Which stretches to the seaAnd build a recollectionThat you will foreverSee.