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.