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.