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Tiles and slab fuse together,
Crevices and bumps forming the uneven cobblestone streets,
Streets of the Romans in the time of Augustus,
Streets of the Vikings in the time of Charlemagne,
Streets of trade in the time of the Black Death.
Brick blocks form ancient buildings,
Peterhouse, the oldest of the university,
And St. Bene’t’s Church, the oldest of Cambridge.
Tiles form rough, rocky sidewalks,
Walked by William of Normandy in the time of the Crusades,
Walked by Oliver Cromwell in the time of the Scientific Revolution,
Walked by the armies of soldiers,
But also the tourists.
The chatter of tourists in foreign languages follow them through the streets,
They see only the buildings that tower over the town,
They snap only the pictures that capture monuments.
They walk on the history of England,
The uneven cobblestone streets, the rough, rocky sidewalks
Walked by the people of history,
Yet they only see the buildings.
As each bike bounces on the boulevard,
The bereaved baskets bump back and forth,
Bemoaning as they hitch rides on the bikes.
Bike bells cry as they ring on the streets,
Chains crying as they turn.
Their city is a forgotten Atlantis,
Its history lost in the layers of the uneven cobblestone streets.