I walked

these flint scatterd fields

when time was mine,

my stride more sure,

and, with hips in line,

inclines went unnoticed.

Freedom -

my ever-tempting lure

led me to this chalky down

where once,

amongst the gleaming

jag-edged flints,

sinewed ploughmen

walked with furrow-limps.

But in the deep and ancient pass

this land was water-washed

and sea-bed urchins called it home,

they, long since,

have turnded to stone.

How inconguously they lie

with iron-forged shoes and rusting nails,

while staring up at that same blue sky

that overarches all.

 

now here I am

gathering their small ancient forms

 

                                   they - - -

                                       who knew this world before man was man,

                                                                                        now lie at rest

                                                                                             in my protective hand.

A large undulating neighbouring field often turns up large old hand-forged iron horseshoes with hand made nails still attatched, countless broken pipe stems and parts of old tools, among all these artifacts are sea-urchin fossils that have lain there, untouched since the land heaved itself out of the sea becoming dry for ever.