Up, up the winding shingle,
past battlements of weather
and sharply hewn stone,
to the green mound that sloped
before the castle keep.
There, I watched the homes
huddle in below, as if nestled
at the foot of the mountain
seeking comfort of the fortress,
and a protective memory;
it drew me to that spot.
A fortress that had long since,
seen out it’s usefulness, except
in one respect, it had a view
out to sea unknown to the town;
this drew me up here.
And while the town thought of progress,
it thought of boats and how they never
came, those warring invaders.
So patiently, it waits and waits,
held up by the need to be there.
