Maeshowe

orkney, maeshowe, tourist

Maeshowe


Over a languid landscape, quiet and still.
Mystic mists hover over bowed long-laid grass,
And look towards the outlying hazy hill
Maeshowe still waits for time to pass.

What darkened drama seeps from beneath these walls,
Of heavy stepped stone built by Neolithic Man
Where burnt bones once screamed with haunting calls.
And skins were still hide and tan.

Runes were written of Viking lore of old,
Grazed graffiti scratched in stone tell of love and treasure
And for one, did ghostly dreams grow cold,
Did Helgi have her pleasure?

So looking on the nearby lazy lake,
Maeshowe wails and waits with her glinting eye
The slow circuitous day to take.
As suns meltdown from the sky.

Five thousand years have passed by now
No more the sacred bones in Jars,
Memory mists I know not how,
Smoking up to silent stars.





Chrissie Nash
May 11