Stone for St. Oswald Hill Head Farm.

Went out again late last night
Sneaking through the corners of the dark
To collect more stone.
Why? I don’t know,
But I feel like a thief
Plundering the past.

My neighbour takes what he needs
In broad daylight.
Brass neck.
But me? No!
I creep across the boundary of right and wrong
To steal stones that belong to the dead.

It is only by taking what isn’t mine
That I wonder
Who do these stones belong to anyway?

However, I shall still do my stealing in the dark.