Driving through the land where the trees are flat,
And using my eyes to view this and that.
Derelict stone building up near a hill,
Rooflees, doorless, windowless sill.
One of several that dots the land,
Heritage of a people who once tilled the sand.
Noting even more during the sunny days,
Marvelling at the desolation as I gaze.
Near the coast winds make a fearsome sound,