By Ernest M. Judd

I looked upon a formidable ruin on a hill, a landmark in the sky.

The power resonates all around.

The lords who fought over this land and built its walls no longer here or known.

On top of the hill what a mighty sight.

Sea and islands all around.

Of the castle fortress nothing remains but one small tower, bleach white in the blaring sun.

The power has dwindled, people gather not to see the power of the lords, but the beauty of the trees and mountains.

Of the castle fortress nothing remains.

From that spot on the hill history is imagined.

Powerful lords still cry out look at this mighty fortress, my enemies know not to anger me, my friends know my worth, beware of me.

But of the castle fortress nothing remains.