The lonely road
ribbons out west
the mountains march
away in the distance
The moorland calls
you by your name
the hills look down
searching for you
The Atlantic shines
on the western horizon
the sun kisses
winter its colours
The old houses lean
into the rocky crags
the old mill
no longer mills
The stream babbles
its stories of years gone by
of your folks
long since gone on ahead
The years flow by
the rocks remain
remembering you
and the stories you told
The road rises high
the hills frown aloft
looking out for you
beyond this life
