ECHOS OF THE PAST
The ruins of the castle stood cold and grey
Against the gathering gloom at the close of day.
Winds echoed sounds of laughter and of pain,
As it told of life through sunshine and rain.

It must have been a grand sight when new and clean,
Many tall turrets, a moat and high flying flags seen,
No one could miss it on the brow of the green hill.
Now all that is left is broken walls, rubble, cold and still.

Yet steps, worn, still lead to dungeons deep and dark,
Those taken there never heard the song of the lark
Or saw the sun rise and set through a happy day.
I wonder for what trivial crime they did pay?

One turret still stands, the moat floods when it rains,
Walls three feet thick rise among the crumbled remains
Of the castle so cruel, so kind, once mighty and strong,
And just the echoing wind, laughter and pain, its song.

M Ann Margetson © August 17, 2000
2000/Echos
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