The Standing Stone

- Daisy Gold

Upon a grassy mound
An ancient standing stone rises
Upright and neglected.
Its rugged beauty brushed
With soft sunshine.

Dappled by mosses and lichen
And wreathed in ivy
It keeps an enduring watch,
Patiently waiting
Through the rolling years.

I gazed upon this aged sentinel
So quiet, so still,
Solitary and forlorn.
A signpost to the past,
Veiled mysteries buried deep within.

Reaching out I touched
Its sun swept face,
Hoping to hear
Some lost ancestral spirit,
A voice from another time.

Rising into the silent air
Misty figures from past ages stirred.
Spellbound, I beheld
A warrior king of legends
mounted on a mighty horse.

A noble steed of great stature,
Spirited and bold,
His snow-white coat translucent shone.
Fire burned deep in his eyes,
A soul's witness to the wrath of war.

With a wild neighing the charger reared.
'Westu hal', cried the ghostly king,
wielding his sword high in the sunshine.
Then they tore away swiftly,
Hooves pounding the dewy turf.

I knelt before the weathered stone,
Hands trembling, I loosened
The cloaking ivy and found
Faded words frozen in time,
A testament to love and doom.

"Faithful servant, yet master's bane,
Lightfoot's foal, swift Snowmane"