Charles Fairey
The Tower Of Wybunbury
The tower ascendant to the heavens
Stood upon an ancient hill,
To look out across the Cheshire Plain,
From this leaning monument of ancient fame.
A house of the Bishop in a nearby field
Stood long ago, with moat and bridge,
A Palace some might say,
From Lichfield the clergy came to stay.
Since Norman times and before
A priest would entertain the flock,
From all around the surrounding vale
To church they would come without fail.
The church now gone,
Only the tower remains,
Of this ancient stone topped mound,
Of celebrity renown.
Tithes were paid to the church
From peasant and farmer alike,
Who walked their way to the hill,
Where the church tower haunts us still.
The ground beneath is running sand,
Many times it was rebuilt,
But each time the earth gave way
And the worshippers had nowhere to pray.
The tower repaired with silver
Found hidden in a chest,
And the parishes’ charity collection
Helped strengthen the obelisk’s foundation.
A new church built some distance away,
Where the village folk now pray,
But for long this tower will interest
And under its gaze are buried the blessed.
All sleeping in their graves
The worshippers of Him, whom saves,
Its ancient presence, home of the blessed,
The Tower, the keeper of Wybunbury’s nest.
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