The Hoard

During the summer of 2012 two men, using metal detectors, discovered ancient treasure in a field in Jersey. This treasure of compacted coins had lain hidden for up to 2,000 years. These coins were made about 2,000 years ago – when Julius Caesar and his Roman legions were conquering and the Channel Islands were changing from a Celtic way of life to a Roman style of living. That is the inspiration for this poem:

The Hoard

Gentle rain, washing away the dust
Of ages; iron in soil, turns to rust;
As it lies buried; distant ages past
Was hidden there, expected to last
Until the danger had gone away,
And the people return again one day;
Silver and bronze coins, gold bands,
Exquisitely made by artisan hands;
But it was not to be: treasure there
Buried deep, as deep as the fear
That drove its owners, as they fled:
Approaching armies bringing dread;
And yet the memory forgotten, lost:
All that great effort, all that cost,
Never to be seen as the days pass,
The soil turns to weeds and grass;
Thus it remains for so many years,
And then the rain falls, like soft tears,
Dampens the earth, and on one day,
The detectorists arrive, and they stay,
Patiently covering the whole field,
Waiting for the tell-tale note to yield
Something, rumours of great note:
Just word of mouth, no one wrote
Then or now of what lies beneath
This rough land, this common heath;
Finally, they uncover iron and gold,
And reveal to all this tale untold.