The allotments will never be the same.

Fred was digging a new bed when he

Found it,

Uprooting silver collars, bracelets, armlets

Finger rings too along with

Amber beads not unlike flax seeds.

Mutterings of treasure trove sprout darkly

In the other sheds where his

Neighbours want their share but

Greenhouses grow security guards now while

Worst of all

Parsnips and pe...

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Horizons and herring made us Vikings

No estuary beyond our sixteen oars and shallow-drafts.

Silver arm-rings we wore, bound by allegiance,

Chained thralls shared our graves

Ninety miles a day in a fair wind

Sea-sick abaft oak prows and reeling sails.

Monks in towers prayed for stormy seas but

Stiff with salt it was nuns not gold we wanted

After conquest we traded ...

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