Orkney’s Ancient Stones
Upon the edge here wild seas churn,
Lies Orkney’s land so old, so stern.
Beneath grey skies and winds that call,
Stand echoes of a distant thrall.
The standing stones, in silent might,
Hold whispers of a flame-lit night.
The ring of Brodgar, grand and wide,
A temple where the ancients cried.
Through passage tombs in starlit gloom,
The dead still dream within their womb.
Maeshowe waits with secrets deep,
Where winter’s light through shadows creep.
The village buried, lost in sand,
Now Skara Brae stands proud and grand.
Its hearths still warm with ghosts of past,
Where hands shaped stone to make it last.
Their lives were simple, harsh yet bright,
They fished, they farmed, they braved the night.
Through seasons fierce, through mist and foam,
They built, they loved, they made a home.
Oh, Orkney’s shores, where time stands still,
Where wind and waves shape land and will.
The Neolithic whispers low,
Through ancient stones that hum and glow.
Written by Benjamin-Ashley
©thegaybipolaradventurer
**Please note this image is AI Generated based on my poem.**