The Ring In Winter
Birds circle, overhead
A cold, grey mist lingers
over mound and ditch.
Stones loom over me
For age after age, they have
stood in this place.
Seasons have passed seasons by
The distant future for those
that placed these stones
Is our long-forgotten past.
What secrets do these stones know?
What stories of lives betrayed,
of loves lost, of rites enacted
can this circle of stones report to us?
After four and thousand years
can we only guess as to their purpose.
That stands in the cold, misty winter.
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