Pilgrim cows mass all around thee,
stubborn stone tables,
you are a constant relation,
wealth measured in lichen and mosses,
the richness of life
expelled from your surface.
I have trudged through mud,
silt and sand,
met with you in modest platitude
the promised land.
I track the coast path,
small edges slicing away
beneath my feet,
all in pursuit of you.
A tabletop, a burial place,
a dwelling or place of worth,
pagan powers emit
from your surface.
As I adore you,
surrounded by soft-sprung ground,
you transcend history,
waiting to be found.
