About

The Holy Grail 'neath ancient Roslin waits.

The blade and chalice guarding o'er Her gates.

Adorned in masters' loving art, She lies.

She rests at last beneath the starry skies....


In London lies a knight a Pope interred.

His labor's fruit a Holy wrath incurred.

You seek the orb that ought be on his tomb.

It speaks of Rosy flesh and seeded womb.


It lies beneath the Rose.