Friends from the past

A Friend from the Past

A bronze-age ghost cries past,
Shuffling, complaining and waving us away.
We stare amazed at this apparition,
But invite it to come and sit by us.
Welcomed, it stands cautious and curious,
Then rests on the stones that form its grave.
Hello, we say with smiling eyes.
A sigh is its gentle reply.
We see the River Tagus through him,
Can he see through us?

(c) Carl WV Hopkins
12th July 2000.

We have been drawing a bronze-age grave in Portugal's summer heat. I
wrote the poem as I sat under a large eucalyptus tree on a mound of its
curled, paper, bark looking towards the grave (30yds away) and the
River Tagus (in the distance across its alluvial plain).