The Herm

To the West I made a place for you.

A stone pillar, polished and neat.

With the shadows cast by the setting sun.

It marks the border.

It marks the end.

It marks the point where day says farewell.

 

To the North I made a place for you.

A stone pillar, old and weathered.

With the snows of Winter and the growth of Spring.

 

It marks the border.

It marks the end.

It marks the point where Spring gives way to Winter.

 

To the South I made a place for you.

A stone pillar, brightly painted and in ribbons covered.

With the heat of Summer and the sounds of the sea.

 

It marks the border.

It marks the end.

It marks the point where Summer is King and Winter unknown.

 

To the East I made a place for you.

A stone pillar, golden and clean.

With the songs of man seeking you.

 

It marks the border.

It marks the end.

It marks the point where the Sun greets the world and sacred land begins.

 

At the borders of my mind, I leave a place for you.

A stone pillar, like a phallus shaped.

With vines and ivy slowly claiming it.

 

It marks the border.

It marks the end.

It marks the line that none may cross.