One of many henges
So baffling to us now
Your presence holding secrets
Of our history somehow
Scholars count your circles
And remark about your ditches
They argue as to whether
There were saintly priests or witches
Or merely bronze age business men
Selling daily wares
Who could fit more in a circle
Than they ever could in squares
Some suggest strange customs
Took place in front of alters
And point to mystic symbols
On Long Meg and her Daughters
Perhaps you stood in quietness
Without the noise of cars
And tracked the paths of planets
Or caught the shooting stars
Your silence is quite daunting
And I think it might be tragic
If we’ve somehow missed your purpose
And lost your special magic
So I close my eyes and wonder
As I ponder here alone
Looking for some answers
In your one remaining stone