THE ANCIENT STONE CAIRN

By John Herlihy

Ancient and windblown on the Russian Steppe,

The stone cairn stands alone, its rain tears weep.

Signpost for travelers or burial mound for the dead,

Across the dusty plain, the memorial raises its head.

Commemorating stones lovingly by human hands laid,

As if perpetuating a promise in ancient times made.

The bitter winds keened among the mounted stones,

The rose-grey light of dawn has winter chill that moans.

The horizon bears witness overhead to ribbons of clouds,

Their shadows laid down on the grass as funeral shrouds.

Scratches and curlicues etched there that resemble words,

By nomads decorated with plaits of wool and skulls of birds.

Melancholy memories linger amid the stones and the wind,

Enduring across the years with forces that no one can rescind.