rowed
in four
white rows
facing
sunward
80 remnants
lie

past
the memorial
of those
sacrificed
to a pagan god
and madmens'
lust

and
the stone
which names
the names
of Frijs
who died
for life

not forgotten
these tender rows
sons
husbands
uncles
grand-sons
blood brothers one

I sit now
beside them
old enough
to be their son
now their father
not alone
but in best company

a crow
crows the last post
the tethered gates
aclosing
a moorhen gathers
her new born
I wander home