Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021.
Folly
They've climbed the hill, the dog and he,
to where the morning mist has thinned.
To where they see the Stand that hovers
in their view, half there, half not.
It refutes the name that mocks its lack of use,
for purpose overrides and shames utility.
Far better its mission to remind them all
of the folly of a beaten cause.
And a Prince not much older than the man
whose dog meanders back and forth.
Who fled across the sea then disappeared
into the silent mists of history.
Observing the breathless, weaving dog
that rubs its face along the dewy grass,
he thinks that one day he will climb the Stand
for no reason he can comprehend.
Tim Fellows 2021
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