Gnomon

So I now come to that same blessed mound, witness of much that memory still holds dear. Though now these fields grey-sullen clouds make drear, they once outspread a carpet royal around our feet, when in those branches dank and bare birds sang in summer sweetly as we bade. Here was my home, my backdrop as we played the game, whichever pleased. No fear, no care, dared cloud the sun. Yet now, who hears my breath? For you have gone and I am here alone, that house a shell engulfed by tides of death, my parents’ place marked by a head of stone. As here I stand, do wind and trees console the one whose joys Time’s shadow-hands once stole?