The Abbey Ruins

 

Stanton-St-John-7302.jpg

 

 

As we step over the tumbled stone

And scattered masonry, you breathe

The dense dust rising at the hilltop.

 

An old archway is all that stands,

The rest a shattered temple, mere

Fragments of faith on the earth.

 

I pick up one piece of our history,

Heavy as guilt in the hand,

And let it drop to clattering silence.

 

And you believe that the old god watches

Over the world, still, from the sentry tower

Which has long since fallen.

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