They are quiet stones
Builded once great palaces
Seating glorious dynasties
Thrones etched in echoing dust
That speaks forgotten words
Life moved on from here
The sun fed richer fields
And water sprang sweeter through
More fragrant valleys
So the exiles thought
Neo-Babylon lasted as a dream
Wrenched out of the drug of sleep
Borne to a tired sun
And a barren earth cracked open
From drought, hungry for hope
That some glory might return
Halls may ring again
With high ceremony and grace
Rejoicing at the finest point
Of progress in the world
And then, the wind sweeps up
The empty steppe, old praises
Swirl out between the endless grey hills
The stones keep their silence.
@nepion_boreas17
