Rook of the Henge

Perched atop an ancient stone
Watchful eyes dart furtively,
Surveying all and telling none

What, pray tell, do your cries mean,
Are they of pain untold,
Or the mysteries of the Druid Queen?

Fly, ‘round the mighty megaliths ~
A bird’s eye view of majesty;
Standing gift of primordial smith.

The unsaid word is Nevermore
To man’s horrors
Of fire, strife and war