I wrote this poem back in July 2010 after a visit to Maiden Castle, one of the most spectacular Iron Age hillforts in Britain, but never posted it. Here it is at last, accompanied by some of my photographs.
Picks of antler, spades of bone
Sweat of brow on earth and stone
Carved these ramparts, carved them deep
Created this almighty keep
Standing here against the tide
Of Roman legions’ steel and pride
But ramparts steep were all in vain
Ballista bolts which fell like rain
Swept these warriors away
And Roman troops in formed array
Stormed this place that now lies still
A Celtic dream, dead, on this hill
Now up here gods and heroes slumber
Forgotten names in countless number
Up here in a sky-roofed hall
Where the crows and ravens call
Will they ever wake again
To stir the hearts of modern men?
For from this hilltop, looking down
On a busy bustling town
I see how petty life’s become
How self-absorbed is everyone
And for a moment, through my blood
The ancient Celtic rhythms thud

A view of the ramparts (photo © Bruce Officer, 2010)

A view of the winding entranceway (photo © Bruce Officer, 2010)

Sheep on the ramparts (photo © Bruce Officer, 2010)
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