I was as if drawn by pain,
A disciple of love and a traitor to gain,
I noticed three head stones to relate,
They stood, strong and silence stirred their wait,
The first was marble, hand sculptured line,
It paid homage to two in it\'s design,
The artist and the wearer of the crown,
Both created glory on this heathen ground,
Below this majesty lay a lonely rose,
Dying, withering, this is knowledge that never knows.
In the centre of these fine stones of the world,
Sat a mellow grey and marble herald,
It stood still strong, but weakened by each year,
For nestled in it\'s structure grew strength and fear,
At it\'s foot lay clustered, flowers in a ring,
Some dying, some living to another Spring.
The last soldier, fallen in darkness,
Knelt, broken by this soil of emptiness,
The weather, time, the Sun and the moon had won,
But the victory was noticed but by one,
And around grew flowers in a torrent,
A glorious crowd that heaven sent.
And as these tree eternal stones of mine,
Shall stand against the lord of time,
And I looked towards the skies,
But the Sun closed my eyes.