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Stones of Old



Tell me your song oh stones of old
of the summers that warmed you and the strike of the cold
the voices of song absorbed in your heart
the anger and fear that tore you apart.

Speak to me of church bells and whispered dreams
the rough hands that gathered your broken seams
the waterways that carried your bones of lime
the soft crunch of bread and red rivers of wine.

Who did you cradle in your shadowed arch
as the songbirds heralded the soldiers march
as battles raged in the skies ahead
and you sheltered your spiders in a stony bed?

Is the wear on your shoulders the marks of the wild
or the scrape of a heel from a venturing child?
Discarded windows frame the dance of time
Oh tell me your stories great stalwarts of lime. 

 

Emmalene

 

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