by Ed Blundell
The giant blocks of Stonehenge stand
Stark, sombre sentinels of time,
Gazing across the countless years,
Watching the cycles of the sun.
Here ancient Druids cast their runes,
Drew power from the sacred stones,
Watched as the whirling wheel of time
Rolled slowly through the centuries.
Kings come and go and kingdoms fall.
Now different priests sing different chants.
The sinking sun sets, reappears.
The silent stones count down the time,
Until that time that was foretold,
When time itself will grow too old.
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