Nature Poetry

Ruins

A pile of stones,

A pot or a vase.

All of these remnants

From a very old race.

A people who once

Populated the land,

Who built houses and cities,

That were once, grand.

But now lay in ruins,

And piles of stones,

Through which the winds whistle,

Howl, and moan.

They left a record

Or courage and bravery,

Of high times and low times,

Of freedom and slavery.