Refined and wealthy, reminiscent of a great Britain with a glorious past, stooped in monarchistic history, a warm aura of familiar peace, houses bedded in by acid rain, orchestral educational chime, surrounded by the mean of time, great observatory view of the sky, blackened soil under foot Rhododendrons pleasing to the eye, a peasants revolt would be welcome here, if you were born long ago, in another year, now the grand piano, untuned by rust, dark green ivy squeezes brick to dust, exonerated with forgiveness, John the Baptist church, loved by ancient duty, Blackheath quaint all over, since my memories of a child, sadly now lost in transition with the traffic of lorries, cars and buses running through wild.
