It is not elaborate. Cut into the rectangular block of stone is a narrow shaft rising from a triangular base, with a plain disc at the top, the whole thing measuring just over a metre in length. The restraint of it is almost severe, a geometric symbol that communicates something, probably a cross in a reduced, abstracted form, without any of the decorative ambition that characterises much Irish ecclesiastical stonework.

A chest-tomb, for those unfamiliar with the form, is essentially a box-shaped grave monument, its sides built up from the ground and a flat slab laid across the top. Here the sides are drystone-built, meaning the stones are laid without mortar, a technique ancient in Ireland and practical in a region where good binding material was not always at hand. The tomb has partially collapsed beneath its slab, which now sits at a slight remove from its original position. The slab itself is not especially thick at nine centimetres, but at 2.2 metres long and 0.68 metres wide it is substantial, and the carving, simple as it is, was clearly deliberate and considered. No date, no name, and no inscription survive to say whose burial this marks or when the stone was laid.