I am from the place of the brown mountain hare
And the badger a creature whose type are now rare
And the dunnock a small mottled brown bird who frequents the hedgerow
And the rook and the jackdaw and silver back crow
But the place of my young years from here far away
And there i might well be a stranger today
But in my flights of fancy i can hear the rill
Babbling to the river down the field by the hill
The old fields i loved they would still look the same
Many of them i recall had their own given name
To wherever you go to the past follows you
This something i believe in and hold to be true
And the now is all that matters as some like to say
And the past it has gone like every yesterday.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment