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Danehill
On the hill, gazing at furrows
ploughed in the chocolate earth
I dredged the ditch of history.
Beneath my feet lay the bones
of forgotten ancestors
dreaming the land into being.
Bare-limbed trees shook in the gale,
singing an ancient song
in a forgotten language.
The furrows of earth, like thighs
rose and fell, breathing, in the sun,
waiting to enclose the seed.
I lay on the mound, in the grass,
dreaming with the ancestors,
at one with the land.
© Yvonne Aburrow
Yvonne Aburrow's publications on Lulu