Southwark

I noticed a bust of Shakespeare, an effigy in stone with     latticing to mirror the ages. In the same cathedral a     notation commented John Harvard was baptized here.     Outside, rain fell on tombstones scarcely readable,     their letters frail imitations of what each man     considered important in life.     The church itself breathed renewal. We learn John     Gower, epic poet to the court of Richard II,     worshipped here. I thought of translucence, then muir     and gems the wise men brought the Infant Christ.     Prayer candles glowed and fell into a lap of pyre. The     crypt held Edmund, brother to the Bard.     A handsome altar betrayed sentiments Gray used in     his elegy to another courtyard. My thoughts     continued onto nearby Tower Bridge, steel and energy     dynamos before steps of the multitude released at five.     A sign read no alcohol was to be consumed on church grounds.     The very name of the place visited was poetic, half     twist of muscle, more pull of silent breath.