STONED IN ROCHESTER

It was a beautiful summers day.

Way back in may.

1990s.

Me,Gaz, & don.

All equipped with materials.

For building spliffs.

We are in Rochester.

A town in medway.

At the back of Charles dickens.

House .

Where Charles did most of his writings.

Sat on wooden benches.

Onlooking the two ponds full of beautifully coloured fish.

A small bridge mounted in the middle of the ponds.

Flowers, pink blue orange red, yellow.

Climb the house.

And cover the garden.

We skin up.

Sit back .

Glaring at dickens writing house.

Soon were stoned.

So head of to Rochester castle.

Through the high st .

Eyes red as can be.

The castle .

Tall and historic.

To the left.

A hanging post.

Where people used to be hung.

We enter the castle grounds.

Lay on the grass.

As we smoke more of it.

To our right .

Rochester cathedral.

Straight ahead of us.

The river medway.

There has always been something magical.

Mystical.

Gothical.

About Rochester .

With its cobbled stone walk ways.

Magnificent buildings.

Just a lovely town .

Not just to get stoned in.

But by its self.

Rochester has something tranquil about it.

We lay stoned absorbing all the beauty.

Those days .

When we were 16.

ARE LONG .

And gone.

But my heart.

Will never let it go.