Architects Poem by Angela Dodge

The ringing begins, the builders, they breathe-
Exhaling a low thrumming sound
The stones begin to rustle like leaves
Slowly twirling up, off the ground

The sounds create circular patterns
The stones, they fall in the ring
Swirling like the grains of sand do
In a desert storm in the spring

No sound being heard but the ringing
And the singing of the men in their cloaks
No winds whispering nor blowing
Not a leaf does move on the oaks

The stones are moving swiftly
Directed with sound and with song
As the light of the moon grows brighter
They know that it will not take long

Until the new stone circle is standing
And the worship will begin again
And they will move on, taking their songs
And their power of monolithic things.