Hidden Terrace
It is a quiet place
Buried in the trees
A hewn stone terrace on the hill’s face
Flowers bloom and buzz the bees
As spring brings life to the wood
The old rock moss does seize,
Dead leaves lie where men had stood,
A quiet wind whispers where voice had been.
The birds sing a lighter mood
Within the lonely glen
Where stands an overgrown terrace,
A peaceful, solemn den.
The structure time cannot erase
The memories stand unyielding
In this aged place,
Their power against decay it shielding.
It stands a firm reminder
Of times of peace and art
Filled with the quiet of times once kinder.