Stonehenge

Deceptively small
Circle of gray
Giants on a hill
A sea of green
Cut by ditches
Surrounded
By distant mounds
Resting place
Of the past
Some giants fall
Still here
Puzzling
Maybe existing
Just for its own
Perfect simplicity
One spot
Whispering
10,000 words
Any poems fails
To notice and is
Gratefully humbled by them

[I vividly recall standing there in awe writing this poem as a written sketch (since I can’t draw) and people kept coming to look at my sketch and were then really interested that I was writing not drawing something.]