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Description
Breathe in the smoke of 2,000 years of history.
Feel the ash that coats our foundations.
Hear the roars of life and death
and know that you stand on the old Londinium.

Where a woman once stood to tie her hair,
and, in her daydreaming, lost a bone hairpin through the cracks in the floor.
She was thinking of a life she'd left behind.
Of Summers on the Amalfi Coast
with green olive trees and yellow lemon trees reaching out to seas so blue.
Of days in Rome with the buzz of the forum:
traders shouting "consumo caveat",
tutors chanting "amo, amas, amat".
Of hours at the Colosseum games
waiting for that signal that said her favourite would live or die.

But then she was moved here.
To this great new colony.
Of winters by the river
with grey skies, grey mists, grey waves.
Of days in town with the drone of the crowd:
merchants selling torcs and woad,
druids singing songs of old.
Of hours at the tiled hearth
waiting for the chill winds to warm.

And when she grew tired of this dank city,
she took comfort in knowing that all roads lead to Rome,
and she'd get back there someday.

Whether that woman made it back or not,
her imprint certainly stayed.
In our straight roads and our Latin words
which now join our skyscrapers and our slangs.
So that today's visitors feel the same sense of awe when they find our city
as the Saxons did when they found Roman remains.

Those Saxons called Londinium "entaga wenok".
It means "giants' work".

Description
Breathe in the smoke of 2,000 years of history.
Feel the ash that coats our foundations.
Hear the roars of life and death
and know that you stand on the old Londinium.

Where a woman once stood to tie her hair,
and, in her daydreaming, lost a bone hairpin through the cracks in the floor.
She was thinking of a life she'd left behind.
Of Summers on the Amalfi Coast
with green olive trees and yellow lemon trees reaching out to seas so blue.
Of days in Rome with the buzz of the forum:
traders shouting "consumo caveat",
tutors chanting "amo, amas, amat".
Of hours at the Colosseum games
waiting for that signal that said her favourite would live or die.

But then she was moved here.
To this great new colony.
Of winters by the river
with grey skies, grey mists, grey waves.
Of days in town with the drone of the crowd:
merchants selling torcs and woad,
druids singing songs of old.
Of hours at the tiled hearth
waiting for the chill winds to warm.

And when she grew tired of this dank city,
she took comfort in knowing that all roads lead to Rome,
and she'd get back there someday.

Whether that woman made it back or not,
her imprint certainly stayed.
In our straight roads and our Latin words
which now join our skyscrapers and our slangs.
So that today's visitors feel the same sense of awe when they find our city
as the Saxons did when they found Roman remains.

Those Saxons called Londinium "entaga wenok".
It means "giants' work".