#poem #poetry #amwriting #sketchbook pillars

Four pillars, fluted and scrolled, stand now in support
of nothing: in nettles, behind wire. They do not hold
the sky. Nor is there sign of what might have laden;
no twisted rust, nothing. Only in a moment, on the path
when pausing to look at a thistle half blown, do I
wonder what has been taken, and that which remains.

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