Arthur’s Seat

Two hundred and seventy three stone steps

Cut into a curving path up

The side of the mountain

With rich, verdant weeds and

Violet, bell shaped flowers

Tickling ankles and hanging

Heavy with scent

On the edges of the path

At the peak

An ancient, striated

Stone juts out

Large enough for one

To sit and contemplate

What small creatures we are

And how easy it would be

To fall from such a height

Onto the mossy ruins

Below