The Circle
The moss draped over the immortal stones,
Sitting upon another council.
Their guests today were a mother and son,
In amongst the heavy, hilly woods,
Safeguarded from the road, borders, and crops.
These immortal beings,
Green and grey and auburn,
Dark and soaked in their own shadows,
Have seen changed and weather it,
Forever here.
Before the parent and child,
There were fighters,
Hiding in the thicket,
Ducking under the fern and billowy grass,
Sighing as the search lights passed by.
Then there were the horses,
Grazing lullingly,
As Norman cartographers sketched trails,
Unaware of the Celts watching with their brothers,
The wilderness.
And then there were the nobility,
Meeting to discuss important matters,
Long since forgotten and trivialised,
As all things are.
These standing stones,
Draped in royal finery,
Of bejewelled bugs and trailing robes of foliage,
They have seen it all.
They will see more.
And they alone,
Seemingly,
Know that we can decide for ourselves,
If we wish to keep them company.
#HI
