"Auderics Cradle"

The dark tree’s branches swoop over your head,
And fill up your soul with a feeling of dread,
This place is forsaken; you think to yourself.
The trees are all dying, lacking all health
You walk forward un-fearing, your senses on edge,
The slope goes on upwards like the side of a wedge.
You soon reach the top, of this shallow hillside,
Leaves crunch underfoot, all flaky and dried.

But the object of interest, that garners your gaze,
Is a sort of see-saw, up high on a dais.
you call it a see-saw, for there is no better word,
And its actual use no one could have inferred
Its construction was such, if your memory serves,
A triangular brick, and a board with slight curves.
The board was of stone, and the triangle too,
And right round the base of it vine-creepers grew.
And on each side of the stone board, balancing so,
Was an assortment of stones, some large, some so-so.
The stones where of round shape, of spherical form,
This whole circumstance strikes you out of the norm.

You walk up to touch it, just carefully though,
How does it stand when the harsh winds do blow?
With the tip of your finger you brush a small rock,
It moves just barely, but it shakes with a shock.
The base of it shivers, the stone-board does jive,
The round balls of stone roll about with each dive
But after a moment the apparatus slows down,
The stone slab rests softly like an oddly shaped crown.
As you look about quickly, to make sure no one heard,
You spot a small plaque, thus covered with word.

“Auderics Cradle” it reads at the top,
And as you read on, your stomach does drop.
“This odd mechanism was crafted of old,
Its meaning and purpose exceptionally bold,
To control a whole world, quite far far away.
It does this strange thing in a more stranger way.
Each sphere stands for something, what thing can’t be said,
And if a sphere ever falls off, that sphere shall be dead.
Though it shall never be known if the sphere that was dropped,
Was an existence of import, or just a tree that was chopped.
It could be a mosquito, or simply a fly.
Or the greatest of kings, whose life ends with a sigh.
So please do not touch it, for you just never know,
What lives it will end while they roll to and fro.”

You quickly look back at this cradle of death,
And with dread in your heart you take a quick breath.
Lying there in the dirt, so humbly there
Is a small ball of stone, looking up with a stare.
What it stood for can’t be told, for no one can know.
You stay for a moment, then quickly you go.
As you walk from this ancient construct of stone,
Your stub your big toe on something unknown.
You walk on without thought of what it could be,
But if you had wondered, the truth you would see.
For under the soil of this wide slanted hill,
Is uncountable spheres, that lie there yet still.

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