On Sandal’s Field Of Ghosts.

Mist hangs over fields -

ahead, the castle looms where

died the Duke Of York.

At the willows three

a chill permeates the air

and touches nerve ends.

Here fell the Yorkist

hope – body mutilated

and dragged through the mud.

Decapitated.

His head sent on to York to

top a traitors spike.

I...

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