The towering stone on
The ancient downs
The pulsing land crowned
With archaic mounds
The song of the stones is loudest here
On the biggest hill,
The past feels near.
The Stone of Waiting, standing proud
Its giant form below
The scudding clouds
An old meeting place,
A boundary zone
In a landscape of many
Upright stones.
The highest moorland hills
To the east, astound
To the north and west,
Lies the rocky shore
In the south, Hensbarrow Beacon
Rises to the fore.
Upon these downs where
Old bones lie
Beneath the earth,
Beneath the sky
Where legend and lore
Is close to see but continues
To remain a mystery.
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