Arising from the plain; a hill,
its like unknown, it’s age undreamed.
It trembled once upon a time,
So once it was believed.
There I did wander restless,
Upon it’s slopes I took to climb
It’s sylvan hide,
flesh of lime;
now drowning in the depths of time.
And whose words there echoed on the wind?
Were they his?
Could they be mine?
I saw them scattered on the peak,
I saw them splinter,
Saw them shine.
Such words a poet hopes to speak,
Borne biting on the breeze,
Seven whistlers passing thence
Between the Titan’s teeth.
Whose sorrow sang?
Whose anger broke?
And who did hang,
Above the world,
Atop the stone;
Arising from the plain, I stood,
My like unknown, my age undreamed,
And there-upon I trembled,
And there at once; believed.
(A poem of The Wrekin hill, included in 'All Gods Around the Wrekin'. I'm venturing up the old mountain tommorow by a secret path...)