Redcar, a hinterland,
unlandmarked coast of sand,
flat sea, small dunes, but yonder,
in un-grassed Saxon graves,
a brooch, a bullion find,
worked gold, red stone, a wonder
of burnished art. A hand
might hold the contraband
that gives back to this town
two thousand years of depth
in such fine contour. Found,
truth's road we can go down,
marauding yarls behind
the quiet field around.
Sally Evans, Scotland
Sally is the editor of Poetry Scotland
ReplyDeleteI'd love to see the brooch. Lovely write.
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