Sue Leigh Poetry

Silbury Hill


They found no bones there

no crouching dead

only a rusted bridle bit


and the red deer antler picks

our settling ancestors used

to hack out the chalk –


I think of them (on this day

when snow turns to sleet

and the dark comes quickly)


making something

most would never see finished,

a white hill


that might lift them

out of that flooded river valley

a little nearer the sun





Published in Oxford Magazine, Michaelmas Term 2019