Squat burial mound

built up stone by stone

over the centuries

by generations

taught to venerate

the ancient bones

laid there to rest.


Wind combs through the wheat

and purple-headed thistles

dance to attention.

The landscape remembers

in every hummock and hole

even if we do not


the voice of the ancient people

reverberates through empty chambers


inhabited now by shifting shadows

and nesting birds.


Another poem inspired by Avebury.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s