The fiery circle of the sun
Crowns the black tri-lithion
Rising starkly from the plain
Where sleeps the King of All-Britain,
Laid here to rest long years ago
Wrapped in fine wool as white as snow
With golden coins to weigh his eyes
And on his breast the White Bull lies.
Merlin the wizard foresaw his doom,
And used his power to mark the tomb,
Raised a circle of the stones
To watch and guard the High King's bones.
The blazing orb shall still enhance
Each solstice dawn, the Giant's Dance.
By Ann Jones (my mum, in memorium)