Bring them all back:
sheep out
people in
from all corners

There is a time to cry
to feel the grief
of an empty worked field
birds wheeping
in sympathy

But now new drinkers
taste the cool water
of the fern-fringed well

Hunters fishers sailors
crofters and villagers
settlers tourists
and telecommuters

Wave upon wave
still hits the ancient shore
lifting layer after layer
of dust
to a distant
ocean floor