April 15^th, 2020

Rocks lie strewn here and there
Like chess stones,
I scramble over them,
Marveling at their strangeness.
This is no mountain,
This is no hill
But a very tower, a gate turret.
Bedecked with colors like a gaudy cloth
It is bright and lustrous as the moon.
I haul myself up by the creepers,
On its mossy cover I slip and slide.