Blue misted stones lie askew
on a green crested hill,

continuity etched upon their surface,
remembered in their presence,

their existence,
a defiance of modern encroachment.

Time speaks upon that hill, shrouded in moss and forgotten song,
awaiting our renewal,

watches as we reach beyond ourselves,
destroying all that we need...

Praying to ourselves, we lose focus

turning our attention inside
where we grow emptier with each day gone by.

They stand in quiet judgment

without criticism, showing us the way-
we do not hear them

and so they continue their vigil
on the green crested hilltop

stone circles
await rebirth

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