At the top of a hill is where I stand,
Often forgotten but always there,
To tourists I’m just an attraction,
But my history holds lots of action,
On winter days I’m hidden by the mist,
So camouflaged, I’m easily missed,
Cars drive past, some see, and some don’t,
The wind keeps my flag held high,
And I often dread the days that it is only halfway to the sky,
The keys to me are kept very hidden,
All the way in London in a big palace fit for a king,
The local homeowners get to see my beauty in the morning,
But I think others forget to even see up from their phone unlocking,
Before phones came into this universe,
I was the only thing that made them feel that they were away from the outside world,
When cars speed past,
Their engines roar and release sour gas,
It sometimes damages my bricks and puts people off because of the mist,
I wish it was like the old time when people took carriages and pointed out my gates to their kids,
Now all they do is look past what lies behind my bricks,
So, if you ever see me on a walk or in the car,
Please come and see all that lies behind my golden crest.