Woodberry

Upon a hill, above the fray,

What did you do to be treated this way?

 

Among the quiet, within the trees,

A flapping of wings, a buzzing of bees.

 

Folk long forgotten, names etched in stone;

Descendants scattered, this place not their home.

 

Yet here they lie, forever in sun.

No visits in years, not even a one.

 

This hill still persists in different forms;

The higher the better, according to norms.

 

A cliff, a castle, a penthouse suite,

Those who dwell here don’t fight in the streets.

 

For if you wonder where power lies,

Know only one thing, just look to the skies.

Published by kera0603

Book lover who moonlights as a part-time & sporadic blogger/writer.

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