(Standing stones near Penrith, Cumbria)
Crouched in the grass of
a windswept hill,
these massive stones have seen
it all unfold.
Our ancestors circling in
annual rituals of birth
and death, catching the
sun’s eternal rays.
The deep forest, trackless
since primordial time,
cut down for crops
and animal feed.
Clashing armies, cutting
through the valleys,
spilling blood for
gain in land.
Ghosts of riders, stealing
cattle, horses, firing
farms in vengeful
lust for power.
These lonely sentinels of
transient human folly,
tell not the myth
of Meg’s last stand.
More, they display the
ancient wisdom found
in our dependent
life on earth.
Bound by seasons, held
to account by sun and
tide-turning moon
we linger on.
Witness stones, will you
be here to record
the earth’s revenge
on our human pride?