The winds sighs in the needled boughs
The heather bends in the breeze
Yellowed grass of winter
on the dry moorland

The similarity is there
But so is the dissimilarity
No bogs or hags
to trap the unwary

Well paved trails
traverse the moors
the traffic roars
on a distant highway

Out on the moors
wherever they be
my mind wanders free
The freedom of the open sky

A dome of blue
clouds scudding along
the solstice sun
setting in a bed of gold

The unminding traffic
continual in its onward journeys
taking the place of the sea
which has not stopped ever

Not all that were here once
are still around now
their memories remain
in the woods and the moors

Much like in the islands where
they remember those gone on ahead
out at sea or through wizened old age
alive in our memories though

No comments:

Post a Comment