Where the back of the Earth was broken,
Before man was born or North name spoken;
Where the ice cowered and fled again,
And Great Oaks bowed in bronzen flame;
Where rings were raised for tattooed Kings,
Before Bede had dreamt of Angels wings;
Where the timeless tongue sings out yet,
Stands John Hobbes’ and the blood stone set.
Glimpses…
Jesse P. Watson 