jambojersey
06-27-2010, 06:20 PM
Yes An Haunted Castle In Jersey.
Saint Helier walks to and thro, chanting his psalms.
Born in the year 510AD, a bizzare 6th century man.
Song and prayer, a church meeting upon the mount.
Heliers Island congregation, were at mont de la ville.
Jersey Inhabited, by only a few nomads and a Monk.
The Saxons brutaly attacked them, at about midday.
The Pirates on their fatal day, had been hiding at sea.
Fog arrived early morning, anchored off of Corbiere.
They came ashore, unseen stealthely in st aubin bay.
Crossing sand banks, hiding out amongst oak trees.
Chopping off their heads, playing football with them.
They kicked St Heliers head, north of mount bingham.
Where the seas high tide, washed it up on the shore.
The shore it lay, his tomb-stone now, the church alter.
An ideal man rejoiced for his good, a slaughtered saint.
Yes Elizabeth Castle Jersey, it is now being haunted.
A man of christian faith, he endured long loneliness.
Timeslip into the past, Peering out of his grotto door.
His ghost is all alone in his grotto, awaiting us visitors.
A real sense of being, paradise with islets and coves.
Anthony Fry. (jambojersey)
Saint Helier walks to and thro, chanting his psalms.
Born in the year 510AD, a bizzare 6th century man.
Song and prayer, a church meeting upon the mount.
Heliers Island congregation, were at mont de la ville.
Jersey Inhabited, by only a few nomads and a Monk.
The Saxons brutaly attacked them, at about midday.
The Pirates on their fatal day, had been hiding at sea.
Fog arrived early morning, anchored off of Corbiere.
They came ashore, unseen stealthely in st aubin bay.
Crossing sand banks, hiding out amongst oak trees.
Chopping off their heads, playing football with them.
They kicked St Heliers head, north of mount bingham.
Where the seas high tide, washed it up on the shore.
The shore it lay, his tomb-stone now, the church alter.
An ideal man rejoiced for his good, a slaughtered saint.
Yes Elizabeth Castle Jersey, it is now being haunted.
A man of christian faith, he endured long loneliness.
Timeslip into the past, Peering out of his grotto door.
His ghost is all alone in his grotto, awaiting us visitors.
A real sense of being, paradise with islets and coves.
Anthony Fry. (jambojersey)