The Folly-on-the-Hill

     
Standing high the hill    
aged by ingenuity, time-less.    
How old is the question.        
Not by Roman hands.    
Who came here a time ago    
carrying  stone and mortar?    
Who was it....never finished,    
or did it fall?    
Seems such a waste of time    
     
Did it fall from grace,    
a castle felled in war ?    
Climb the crumbling pile    
enter, sea shells on the walls    
Norman vaults so out of place,    
sandy floor,  no tiles, no hearth    
the crumbling pile felt safe    
stones set firm,    
as the mansion in the park,    
     
Built in the seventeen hundreds    
paintings on the library wall,    
artists famous in their time,    
The avenue straight between  limes    
the Ha-Ha  built to incompletion,    
cosmetic, lamb dressed up as mutton !    
     
There was no castle here, no need,    
the country-side quiet as the church    
on the sleepy village green,    
until the land was cleared for sheep.    
Eighteenth century folly, Claudian  conceit.    
     
In the gardens ladies stand with open thighs    
tempting  postures, cold contempt,    
do not touch, dream if you will,    
like the folly-on-the-hill    
they are not what they seem.