With a lighted rag,
And an armful of driftwood,
He entered the cave.
He could see better,
The pile of stones, the corpses.
And an old fire pit.
He threw in the wood,
And thrust in the lighted rags.
Slowly the fire caught.
Six bodies lay there,
Scattered around the fire pit,
Where they were slaughtered.
He devised a plan,
To take the treasure boxes,
Outside to empty,
Then refill with sand,
And bring them back to re-bury,
One by one that is.
He unearthed the first,
And heaved it on his shoulder,
And took it outside.
He came back with it,
Filled with sand and some more wood,
To keep the fire lit.
He reburied it,
Then searched for any others,
And found seven more.
One by one they went,
Out and back, into the ground,
Until all were done.
He looked around,
And then brushed the ground level,
Hiding his footprints.
It was getting dark,
The sun was now setting fast,
As he dowsed the fire.
The tide was far out.
There was a serene feeling,
With the evening light.
At the hideaway,
Around and up the cliff face,
Through a tiny slit.
In the cliff rock face,
To a small ravine and here,
Where he could be safe.
At midnight he woke,
The tide was high and close by,
It lapped the cliff face.
