Voice of the Stones

Over the hill he came, and there they stood
“Poor souls”, intoned a deep ethereal voice
He looked about but no one was there.
“They have a tragic history you know”
Am I going mad he thought, or is there
Some more rational explanation.
“A terrible blight” the voice continues
“Shall I tell you their story?”
He had an interest in standing stones
And their ancient mystical associations,
Coming to Cornwall to view those stones
Known as the Merry Maidens and the Pipers.
He knew the story of how nineteen maidens,
On their way to church, had been seduced
By the music of the Pipers and began to dance;
And how a thunderbolt came to punish them
For dancing and piping on the Sabbath.
Counting the stones accounted for the maidens,
But where were the Pipers? He turned around
And there a few hundred yards distant
Stood two tall stones, obviously the Pipers.
“So tell me your story” he challenged the voice
“Let’s see if your story matches my version.”
But silence was the only reply that he got,
The silence of the gulls, the wind and the sea.