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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The hill had stood on its plain for eons between the mountains and the Sea, Still, quiet, barren, As the wind blew across it And the stars shifted, When a hunter Eight thousand years ago Saw the spring at its base And lived for awhile on its summit Then died. Other people came and settled on the hill And built a village, And, after many years, A small city, And then, for unknown reasons, left. Many more cities were built on the hill: Walled cities that lived for a while But were in their turn burnt and destroyed By great armies from distant empires, Or were simply abandoned. Each destroyed city, Each abandoned city Left behind a layer of debris Of collapsed buildings and toppled walls. And so, slowly, the hill grew. But each time a new city Was built atop the remains of the older ones By new peoples Drawn to the hill by its spring And its promise of refuge. Canaanite merchants, Hittite soldiers, Hebrew prophets, Assyrian generals, Greek stone cutters, Byzantines, Saracens, Crusaders; Each in their time came And left their imprint before passing on. But there came a day when the ground moved And the spring dried up. Then the people moved away, And no one came to build there anymore. And the wind blew across it And the dust settled And buried its streets and walls. And once more The hill stood still and quiet. Until Men and women from a distant university Came to dig through its layers To bring to light the ancient traces Of the life that had once lived there. (This was inspired by James Michener's novel "The Source". )
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