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Blue Stones


The cold grey clouds, loaded with rain from an icy Atlantic plough into these quiet long hills


The rain sprays the frost shattered outcrops


Long blue stones, eons ago pulled like teeth from these hills


Long blue stones that perhaps mysteriously time travelled to the most famous Henge of them all


Where each year millions look vacantly on not knowing the bleating sheep silence of their origins


Or the occasionally sun burst beauty of these ancient hills 

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