The War and the Peace…wash over me.
Remote and distant…I am not what I appear to be.
Sages and Mages and Philosophers and such…
have come here.
Their guile has spoken to the river’s run wild.
Yet, alone, one by one, they perch…
And, I am not in their final shrewd search.
Granite solid, wet and understated and an overgrown child.
Civilizations have gone astray inspite of my style.
War and Peace have come to my shore.
Searching for an easy door.
Missing the reticent rubble…looking for the golden ore.