Colin F. Jones


Rocks give birth to little pebbles,
And pebbles turn to sand.
The mountain always getting smaller
Will crumple to more level land.
The Eagles once so proudly souring
Over the natives far below,
Are symbols now for men exploring
Where those wonderments did go.
Beneath the cities claiming freedom
Lie the bones of nations past;
Where any dreamer can still see them
Before the Christian die was cast.
And how we wallow in our ‘rightness’
Disguising present as our past!