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Black hearths,
long crumbled,
still stains
from flames,
remain.
Unseen,
stones fall
to smother fertile soil.
Day after day,
piles hundred
on thousands.
Duchy of Brittany,
palace and prison,
where bones of
master and slave
rot incognizant,
to class, country
or creed.
All beneath my feet.
Monuments to monarchs
long forgotten,
where now all are free to tread.
Spires of massive towers
loom to survey
old rivers, fields,
kingdom's groves.
Feathers, snakes, wildcats
slowly drift and roam,
over dominions
of moss covered stones.
Beneath my feet,
lives of toil,
collapse into the fertile soil.
Wind and rain!
Dismantle what remains.
Wind and rain!
True rulers in this domain,
of monuments to monarchs
long forgotten.

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