A favourite place.
My sweet valley
Where the winds of time
Breathed the canticle of hope.
Whipped waves glisten
In the September sun
Basting the shores with
The last warmth of summer.
Ducks cackle
– A quarrelsome irritation –
As the trees wave the
Breeze along the valley
Littering the air with
Thistledown and midge.
Waves roll, lapping
The memories which
Brought me back,
Back from the blue-black crags,
Back to the noise of existence.
The plaque reads –
‘Missing you always,
Forgetting you never’
But my foot-tread lies gentle
Never to be remarked.
This ancient woodland of
Holly, birch and rowan,
Of oaks gnarled into beauty
Carries the seeds of my rebirth
And the sun pocked shores
Lap the dawn of my tomorrow.
Oh sweet valley,
Oh sweet friend.
Loweswater 2010
