The Old Yard

IMG_7345If one listens, faintly he can hear
An almost silent gale as it gnaws its cold
Workings, careful not to appear,
Though there among the stones of old.

It’s the history of the Yard!
Seasons’ green, yellow, brown and Grey.
Long ago buried bards,
Still lecturing yet, today.

The past is the present!
Look out among their engravings.
What has the granite to say? “Repent!”
I thought I heard one sing.

“An empty tablet,”
Whispered the gale – How one begins!
Gaining Experience, bit by bit.
Dating back to man’s origin.

“One man, one trade,
This is Justice!” one implored.
How accurate, thought I that day.
Keeping open the mind’s door.

I heard further echoing over the markers,
What else have they to say?
The scene, among the Grey, a little darker.
Nature graciously as always, guiding the way.

Another stone called out,
“Caution before you take those vows!”
One may go through life knowing doubt,
Again listening, hearing the howls.

Living life on the lowest floor,
This did one.
While the other, behind the upper chamber door.
The two, though together, undone.

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