Letter from the land,
buried for two thousand years.
A note to an intimate friend,
a party invitation, a brief occupation
in some ones life.
Insignificant at the time,
discarded afterwards,
preserved by chance.
A technique of building,
lying layers of moss,
turf and stone over wood
sealed environment.
To be read again by thousands.
Walk Roman roads,
marvelling at
under floor heating,
bath houses and lavatories.
Trappings of civilisation
at the outpost of the Empire.
We indulge in a kind of time travel
imagine the period, touch the evidence
its real, its here, its ancient history!
Words scratched on a scrap of pine,
scribbled sentences,
dead language,
lost life,
a lady and her letter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem