THE HILL He had slept for a thousand years; the world rolled on its axis, oiled by blood and tears. His cloak a thousand seasons brown; that face a thousand winters, summers gone. He kept faith in high broad prayers; firmed and reaffirmed, moss, root, leaves layered. Mulched deep in the mound, a seed for my ground; That icy face ten thousand winters bound. He cut his teeth on gritstone moor; rode the rough seasons, stored faith in the soil.
THE HILL & SQUIRE His cloak a thousand seasons brown; that face a thousand winters, summers gone.
THE HILL He had slept for a thousand years; warmed the world burns frozen in greed.
THE HILL & SQUIRE His cloak a thousand seasons brown; that icy face a thousand winters called to arms—