The Eyes of Argus | Normal Hill

BAYLEA JONES

Argus 2011- Perspectives

I walk the shaded path beneath
the old oak tree.
I marvel at its limp and tired branches,
and step upon its fallen leaves.
I follow the cracked concrete
up the cold, stone steps.
I ascend the rock staircase
and try to catch my breath.
I stare out into the open field.
I see the fountain flow.
The water trickles down the bricks,
its stream so calm and slow.
I turn my gaze the other way
and look up a little high.
Three white columns stand tall
and tower into the sky.
There’s a world just beyond it.
But here atop this hill
the modern world is lost,
and history stands still.

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