the old stone tower proudly standing guard
500 feet above Somerset fields.
February snow adorned the hill top
and as thick flakes flickered softly down
he thought of those who've visited before,
ghosts peering down from Glastonbury Tor.
The sun created diamonds in the snow
yet no heat emanated from the fireball
but the view warmed his restless soul.
He imagined festival crowds below
but preferred the tranquillity here
and as the seagulls and blackbirds flew by
he was a god...under a wintry sky.