Also slightly reminiscent of Kipling's The River's Tale is the following - inspired I believe by the sarsens in the Grey Wethers' Valley just outside Avebury on Fyfield Down...

Valley of Dreams

Quietly now lies our Valley of Dreams
summer's dew so quickly turned to frost.
Sprinkled white on every sleeping stone and blade of grass.

So still
but for the silent fall of winter
from each dark tree and hawthorn hedge.

Was it really here
on some bright summer's day
that you and I gave this place a thousand names?
And walked
And laughed and held each other a little while?

Sleep on secret stones.
Dream your dreams of burning suns
summer blown trees and parakeets.

Dream then
of that silent creeping darkness.
Those unending winters of screeching ice
pushing inch by inch
your frozen bodies
across frozen hills.

To this warm
secret little Valley of Dreams.

Dream of a time long gone
when they came to haul you back again
inch by inch
to some proud new place in the sun.

Was it really here
that you and I walked
and laughed
and gave this place a thousand names?
Where I held you a little while
and wanted to say how much I loved you?

Such a tiny sentiment.
Such a silent drop of time
in this Valley of Such Antiquity
in this Valley of Frozen Dreams.

Anon