The temple of man

the light shines, upon the plains,

with items, of countless ages,

forgotten purpose,

the seasons change,

the clime the same,

damp at times more than others,

among hidden wonders,

rounded, shielded,

contained mass of what i need,

the hinge complains,

the rubber seal,

needs cleaning,

maybe do a job,

defrost it now,

before the glaciers migrate,

to the inner sanctum.