Ode to Those Long Past
Beneath the waning sun’s unbroken gaze,
Where winds intone their ageless, mournful song,
The standing stones in solemn circle blaze,
A riddle wrought by hands unknown and strong.
Do bastions of ancient dreams, declare:
What minds conceived you? What hearts laboured there?
Did priests of old invoke the endless skies,
Their chants entwined with moonlight’s spectral beam?
Or warriors gather where lonely shadows rise,
To guard the portals of some waking dream?
Your mute endurance haunts these fleeting years,
Brave monument to hopes, to joys, to fears.
Moss-clad sentries, rooted deep in earth and clay,
Through endless winters, storms, and burning tides,
What truths remain in stone that you cannot say,
What souls endured where time itself abides?
Though voiceless now, still your strength commands,
Sweet living hymn sung loud by earth’s own hands.
Though those who shaped you long have turned to dust,
Your silent grandeur stirs the heart to mourn;
Yet from your stillness rises ancient trust—
Through you, the past and present are reborn.
Henge of stone, cradle of mothers vast unknown,
In your hearts keep, our seeds of faith are sown.
