In Yorkshire's Capital City ©

The archway in the Abbey wall,
It stands high over 10 feet tall.
In Yorkshire's capital city,
Where the streets are quaint and pretty.

Aside the road at Bootham Bar,
I picture the scene before the age of car.
The horse and coaches travel,
Narrow reigns with their hands unravel.
I could feel the rumble on soily ground,
And the clatter of hooves on cobbled sound.
That’s what I imagined for a moment or two,
Then a sign on the wall came into view.
In Yorkshire's capital city,
Where the streets are quaint and pretty.

Lord Abbot’s guest in 1503,
James of Scotland's bride,
This lassie was travelling north to be.
In honour of Princess Margaret,
Henry’s daughter, for King and crown.
In honour of Princess Margaret,
The Abbey wall was broken down.

In the arch I look inside,
The stone is weathered and worn.
In this modern time,
In this city divine,
My mind is tattered and torn.
This medieval structured wall,
The arch is high over 10 feet tall.
In her royal dress,
When they broke through this stone
Did they impress?
For this wall at Bootham Bar,
Was their defence from the north,
From the threat of armies afar.
In Yorkshire's capital city,
Where the streets are quaint and pretty.
The Minster bells still ring,
For York, her people, for Queen and King.

Then I saw the Royal coach,
As I stood by the arch it did approach.
In 1503 on a July day,
Caledonia she made her way.