In a cricle, four roads meet
Surrounded by great trees
Very old and weather beat
Broken boughs and leaves.
A glowing light, the sun’s last rays
Then glanced upon a stone
A king of old, from better days
sitting there alone.
It’s head cast off, now in it’s place
A crude and rounded rock
A large red eye was on it’s face
Painted there to mock
Foul scratchings and crude signs
Were carves about the king
Eroded by cruel hands and time
An old, forgotten thing.
But look- the king’s true head was there
Just lying on the ground
Yellow moss it had for hair
Flowers for a crown.
The sun went down, gone is the glow
and so the vison passed
Now it’s dark but we still know
That evil cannot last.