Stonehenge sun and fog

This poem is ded­i­cat­ed to Erin Smith.

Gray morn on a stretch­ing plain,
Fog giv­ing way to a ris­ing sun
Over a heel stone but not exact­ly aligned.
For the cen­turies have moved the heav­ens
And celes­tial bod­ies have shift­ed
To dis­tort our vision of sto­ried past.

Rising here these great stones,
Planted for an eter­ni­ty,
Standing proud to declare for long-dead min­ions
Who labored to erect a lega­cy,
A leav­ing-behind to out­last their pass­ing
And con­sume the awe of future gazers.

The fog can­not con­ceal their grandeur
Nor work its mag­ic on stone so hard
That years were spent to carve their form
And set them here in immac­u­late pre­ci­sion
That marks our move­ment through a vast uni­verse
’Til they turn to sand and speak no more.

  • Chuck Witt

    Chuck is a retired archi­tect, a for­mer news­pa­per colum­nist, and a life­long res­i­dent of Winchester.