phyl turner/the old stones

The Old Stones
by Phyl Turner

On a recent trip home to Scotland, I took some time out to tour the Castles of Scotland, particularly the Castles that had lain in ruins for centuries. I came away from this tour with an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss at the centuries of history, the life's and the deaths, those old stone walls had seen through the ages. I thought of the generations of families that had lived within those castle walls; their daily lives, their hardships and their struggles - which we can only guess and wonder at.
I wanted those old stones to divulge their secrets to me-to somehow take me back in time, through the centuries, to live the lives of my ancestors. I wanted a chance to thank them for what they had given. I wanted to thank them for their sacrifices and to tell them they will never be forgotten.

And I wept as I held an ancient stone in my hand and felt its silent power immerse my soul with pride, gratefulness, and tremendous loss. I wrote this poem about this profound experience.

THE OLD STONES

The old stones, worn and comforting
keeping children warm
The castle walls, hostile and brave
Shielding, from the storm

Reduced to ruin now, but once alive
resplendent with Highland pride
Conspiring, defiant, ever vigilant
liberty - a constant strife

Bequeathing a legacy, a benefaction of pride
bestowed from within the heart
Molding our nation, shaping a destiny
casting the die apart

So sad now, those old stones
tumbling slowly to the ground
So sad, everything^Òs gone now
without hardly a sound

Distant centuries and one cause
not forgotten but enduring
in the hearts of true Scots
forever constant, and unrelenting

So sleep, eternal patriots, sleep on
liberty will be reformed
One stone atop one stone
Shielding, from the storm

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