The ancient hill beckons, silently. Throngs of people arrive every feast day and on earliest excuse days, They circumambulate, and, when they depart, their rubbish abounds. The ancient hill beckons, still.
1 comment:
Anonymous
said...
Indeed, it still beckons. Even if desecrated every day, and in every way. The plastic rubbish and human detritus is bad enough; but the mental débris is worse. Still the Hill takes it all, Ever patient, Ever waiting, Smiling in repose.
1 comment:
Indeed, it still beckons.
Even if desecrated every day,
and in every way.
The plastic rubbish and human detritus is bad enough;
but the mental débris is worse.
Still the Hill takes it all,
Ever patient,
Ever waiting,
Smiling in repose.
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