Over eons you have seen much:
vikings and faeries, Kings and rust,
love and war, and birth and rot.
Friends and foes fall below the crust.
Breeching the sky, the true kings of old,
standing tall as you sway in the breeze,
teeming in June but dormant beyond,
the forest alive as you weather the freeze.
How many have you met over the years,
as pelts words and swords were exchanged?
How many a transaction you did survey,
as the world around continued to change?
I like to think you're the world's first wonder,
Obligated to watch as other occupants plunder.