Silbury Hill

Upturned pudding dish,

you sit dominating the landscape,

the grass that covers you is sun-scorched

like burnished gold, or

burning tinder

lit with Apollo’s match.

Neolithic place of magic,

you are mysterious now

to those who walk around your sacred circle.

From the top

you see the

vast, ancient trackway

and,

with eyes sharp as the hawk pursuing prey

you gaze out at the land beneath you.

Single breast of the earth goddess

watchtower

or place of pilgrimage

you have witnessed 5,000 years

of life and death

and still you stand

bearing witness to human

folly.

 

Written and inspired by a visit to Avebury and the fascinating history of the place.

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