One more sight

The hole hedged with people of the country

Is delved to reveal secret of gentry ;

Strangers have come with a task of sentry

To excavate phratries from the clay dry ;

Wintry feelings are gone, but ice appears

From suspended earth, and wood the dig bears

Underneath a former brisk horse - it nears

The true state of past that could now bring tears.

Under a blue sky, before the coming

Of a fresh breeze, wheels will arrive soon ;

Work is done and it is time for leaving,

Strangers will go back home, taking each spoon

They imported - and even more. Ending ?

Not yet ! Because local peoples will change

Habits and lose memory. That is strange !