| Poetry |
STANDING STONES
Ancient gathering on open hillside
Open for all, to all who gaze and wonder
Feel the elements, nothing hidden
The true open church.
Ornamentation has no home here
Hierarchy has no meaning
A space of true perspective
Granted, and in no way contrived.
Still, rugged, grey pointers to the past
Begging the question ‘what progress?’
For within this circle and without
Concealment is an impossibility.
By Margaret Carruthers
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