In Friday’s blue sky,
the sun sits low and bright,
revealing a journey into a warm gentle light.
From dusk to dawn,
The stars light up Oxford’s lawn.

The olde world shops provide curiosity,
For citizens and tourists
Around this great city.
The university casts a shadow over the green,
As the sun sets, this sights must be seen.

The college courtyards, one shouldn’t miss,
Steeped in history and academic bliss.
Their monuments and churches provide centre-piece,
Architectural wonders, they never seem to cease.

Yet old and new co-habit disorderly silence,
Providing one suspects, an awkward co-existence.
Satellite dishes and network TV,
Blow the Oxbridge mystique eloquently.

Down on the river, one can imagine,
Generations of games, and a past secretly hidden.
Colleges looking  out to the river,
Their student degrees waiting to deliver.

To Christchurch, the grandest of them all,
Its imposing tower stands strong and tall.
Wooden fingers creep along its cold face,
A warning to students out of place?

Its old rules are testimony to its past.
Do masters still pin them to their mast?
Will the next Millennium break the mold?
Or will the old boys retain their hold.

A place of the arts, literature and history,
Full of grandeur and bohemian mystery.
Although a cynic to those who administrate,
Its charm, and those feelings
I must not placate.

14th February 1998

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