Silbury Hill

 

 

They found no bones there

no crouching dead

only a rusted bridle bit

 

and the red deer antler picks

our settling ancestors used

to hack out the chalk –

 

I think of them (on this day

when snow turns to sleet

and the dark comes quickly)

 

making something

most would never see finished,

a white hill

 

that might lift them

out of that flooded river valley

a little nearer the sun

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Published in ‘Chalk,’ a pamphlet of poems published by Evergreen Press this year.  Please contact me at info@sueleighpoetry.com to purchase copies.

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