By Appointment at the Harris Museum


We were led down through corridors, patchwork and twilit,
Where drawers full of butterflies, clockwork and bones
Had been stored in the corners and nooks in the darkness,
Then, lost, in some cramped room in white gloves, were shown
What we’d come for. Antiquities, found through millennia,
Axes of flint, antler picks, Bronze Age celts,
Trinkets wrought by the folk who’d existed in times
Beyond history, buried in animal pelts,
With their grave goods – the adzes, the bone-hafted arrows,
The stone hammerheads they had prized in their lives.
The midden of history’s preface laid open,
With barely a scratch mark left unscrutinised.
Here was the Wyre at work before known time,
Its quirks and its flaws hidden well out of view
From the tourists. We scribbled and sketched our conclusions,
Just pleased to be part of the now select few.


13 responses to “By Appointment at the Harris Museum

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