Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of a Hill

Past times when men were made as kings, who ruled upon my sweeping mound and then they died and passed me by…

Past times when fires came ablaze in worship to the little gods of little men who bled and died and passed me by…

Past times when forests blanketed my shallow slopes, when herds of deer ran in their primal glee, their rompus I rejoiced to see…

Though men forget, I still remember He who fashioned me with artistry both beautiful and power-filled…

My memory, you see, runs long and deep.