the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
my father digging we look down.
his sight sees remnants of a crown,
from Spear-Danes cut savagely down.
in murky mires a blotched brown;
a holds-hoard under musty mound.
of flourished folk sway they spell bound
decayed desires bare without sound.
bleached bones clutch just one touch!
Lost legends in ages past.
© Thomas Gallimore Barker