There is a tower in the gardens of Yesterday’s Moon. It has no door nor discernible window. The tower stands nameless amongst the ocean of flora swelling against its walls. Birds adorn its height in season. Stone upon stone, the monument stands in wait for a day unwritten.
The history of this edifice is lost. Its dust carries no song of its manufacture nor its utility. The content of the walls lie undisturbed, collecting years like sand. It stands a silent reminder of mystery.
The historian posits it a herald of long dead kings. The philosopher uses it as model for a senseless argument. The poet pretends it another thing entirely.
But the child knows it is shade for her resting.
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