Albion Turned Into Stone

From far we have travelled,
slow, through the rain.
Villages dead
lined bent roads as we came.

Along this wind-blown land,
standards in hand,
ghost armies march,
in song and depart.

From high on the cliff's edge,
knee deep in white foam,
we sight god-king Albion
long formed into stone.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.