Upon the ancient soils of Mount Sandel’s grace,
In the Mesolithic era’s quiet embrace,
A tale unfolds, a story to be told,
Of lives in distant eons, a world of old.

In Coleraine’s shadow, it quietly lay,
Hidden for ages, ’til discovery’s day,
A sacred site where time did stand still,
Mount Sandel, where history’s ink did spill.

Amidst Northern Ireland’s verdant land,
A chapter of humanity’s past was planned,
Oldest of settlements, on this green isle,
Mesolithic whispers, life’s ancient style.

Semi-permanent homes in timber’s shade,
No remnants remain of the dwellings made,
Yet within these walls, life did thrive,
As we trace the footprints of those who’d strive.

Hunter-gatherers in a bountiful land,
By the River Bann, they’d make their stand,
With skillful hands and tools of stone,
They hunted, they gathered, they called it home.

Microliths and scrapers, their crafts so fine,
Woven in nature’s tapestry, their design,
Crafting their tools from flint’s embrace,
In the rhythm of life, they found their place.

No burial rites upon this ground,
A mystery lost, yet still profound,
Where did they lay their loved ones to rest,
In nature’s secret, it’s not confessed.

Connected to the wider world, we find,
Trade routes flowed, leaving traces behind,
From British Isles to Europe’s heart,
In this ancient dance, they played their part.

Amidst woodlands, wetlands, a river’s flow,
Mount Sandel’s secrets began to show,
A tapestry of life, rich and diverse,
In Ireland’s cradle, this ancient verse.

As we unearth the whispers of yesteryears,
In Mount Sandel’s story, time disappears,
A master’s poem in ancient stone and clay,
A testament to those who paved the way.