The House at Milner Field

by Emma Storr

They built me high above the town and mill,

where workers spun and wove Salt’s wealth and fame.

A mansion on a landscaped Yorkshire hill

I’m ruined now, left only with my name.

My stained glass windows shone with coloured light,

my Tuscan marble bragged of chic and flair.

I sparkled with new lamps that lit the night,

piped music from the organ filled the air.

But opulence and grandeur could not save

the families I welcomed to my hearth.

I opened up my gates and then a grave

to bury them within the heavy earth.

My ghosts remain and walk at dusk among

my tumbled stones, abandoned on the ground.

They search the mould and mulch and mouth a song,

that has no words or tune and makes no sound.