Along the moor side, scattering sheep,
Clambering over walls of black stone,
Under the lark's twitter in the sky sphere
And the hobby hawk's begging wheep,
I've climbed. I'd thought I was alone.
But they were there. They are here
On the ridge in a round barrow
Tussocked with grass, crumbling down,
Boulders tumbled into its crown.

I lie on the grass and press my ear
Against a boulder. Dimly I hear:

Who I am you don't want to know.
How it is you don't want to know.

Dimly I see blue eyes scrunched narrow,
White cheeks and forehead, yellow hair.

You don't want to know who I am.
I was killed with me Dad and me Mam.
Death is more than you want to know.
What it's like you don't want to know.

Yellow-haired girl, you don't want to know
...