From the land of rushlined streams
Broad rivers meandering
below an endless horizon
My mind drifts north

Over the forests
where boar and deer
roam freely,
perhaps too much so

Beyond the dammed sea
and the part-time waters
the isle of white and green
is a stepping stone

To the distant northwest
which beckons from afar
in rainclad grey
with water flowing freely

Reflected in the lowering skies
of the low land of woods
the land of heather
like in the northwest

No comments:

Post a Comment