These are the stones,
Where hooded scavengers
Each day pick apart the
Bones of rainbows,
The distances that
Halted the march of
Empire’s greedy ambition;
That defined a nation,
The place where the comeback
That ended in nought,
Began to generate excitement.
But the breathing here,
The tales that were born here
and weave, like treacle smoke,
In and out of lost eagle winds
And wool-hung rushes were
Worth it all …
Worth it all
And so much more.
24/5/2013 (Birdoswald Fort)
Photosources: Top photo: http://www.mikepitts.wordpress.com
Second photo: www.fairtradehadrianswall.co.uk
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What a title!!! You certainly can turn a phrase, my friend. I loved this one. 🙂
beautiful 🙂
Thank you both for your support and kind words. Of course – being human – I am happy to take some credit for the piece, but am truly never sure where the words actually come from: I love playing with the meaning and order of words, but somehow they usually tumble together during a car journey or a sit-a-moment time following whatever I noticed that inspired the thinking.
In this case spending an hour on Hadrian’s Wall after a long drive to a stopover (on the way to the Isle of Skye).
Heart cannot be separated in this~Very intricately weaved… magnificent !
Lovely lovely
beautiful