i'm not a poet, but i wrote this to describe what oxford in england means to me. in my head there was a chanting rhythm to the sound as it came to me. i expect its cause of my celtic blood. the song i sing to oxford is not romantic but passionate :

Oxenford

Your architecture, crystal song
Sings to me from your distant land
Your stone sweet music to my eye
Is passion’s reason, desire’s reply

With burning love, aching heart, I long
For your placid moors, your mired land
Entombed, a sodden isle of Avalon

Oxenford, your given name
And such a silly name knows none
They see you as some gelded bull
Stumbling through a flooded field

But we know, you and I
(and Men who’ve tramped your bosom’s paths)
That ancient bloodline, River Thames,
Is Isis when it fills your veins

Flowing, sacred, honeyed, draft
Hoary kiss of being
In archaic tongue you’re known

As ‘Is’ or ‘Os’ or ‘As’

Water’s sound
Of wizard’s fame ?
Yes !
Goddess Isis is your name

A man whose words as sweet
As mine be harsh
Breathed your soul and sighed
You are a place of Dreaming Spires

And lowering towers
And flirting gargoyles wise
And stones so wet with hoary moss
Their sheen reflects the skies

Down the cobbled alleyway
Laburnum trees are tucked away
And streaming golden racemes fall
On clear blue perfect April days

Such precious hours, all is bliss
And no one can reacall
You shroud your light in cloaks of gray
To match your stones, most every day

Your presence, deep with shades of those
Who walked your lanes with you,
They laughed and learned, drank deep your wine

We’re hung and drawn and wed
And each of them you truly loved
When they softly wept in bed

I feel them, and I hear their sighs
Deep in the nightfall’s streams
Long after revelry’s off to bed
And passed into your dreams

Oh how my heart does ache for you!
I’m drawn to you as home
As paramour, as confidante
As teacher, mother, friend

I’ve been with you through time, my love
A thousand years before
And when another thousand pass
I’ll be with you once more