At dawn I stand where ancient shadows breathe,
Those solemn stones still whisper to the sky;
Their secrets drift like mist along the heath,
A hush that makes the living wonder why.

The earth remembers every circling year,
Each solstice kiss, each fire that once was thrown;
And in that quiet, something draws me near—
A pulse beneath the soil, older than stone.

I feel the weight of time uncoil in light,
As though the past leans in to touch my face;
Its magic hums, both tender and despite,
And binds my heart to this forgotten place.

So when the sun ignites the henge anew,
I breathe its flame—and step into the true.