Up on the Moor
The birds take flight
On the glorious 12th
They leave the hill
With a bevy of Grouse
The trappings of
wealth
Up on the Moor
The birds take flight
On the glorious 12th
They leave the hill
With a bevy of Grouse
The trappings of
wealth
As the lengthening days warm up
When the north is on
the cusp
The ice begins to
speak or sing
Heralding the arrival
of spring
Sweet memories of our childhood
Sunny days bright and
pleasant
Cold crisp Novembers
on the heath
Beating the bracken
for the Pheasant
Sweet memories of our childhood
Those days of youth
were the best
Golden Septembers in
the fields
Gathering the bounty
of the harvest
In shades of red and orange
The sky burns with
fire
Clouds in sunset are
illuminated
Like smoke in a
funeral pyre
As streaks of gold appear in the western sky
I look into her
hypnotic green eyes and sigh
With her in my arms
and romance in my heart,
As the sunset glowed,
I vowed we’d never part
The sun bursts through the curtains
As dawn brings forth
another day
And bids us waken from
our rest
With every golden
warming ray
Bathed in summer sunshine Gentle breezes stir the stems But above in the golden sun Grow an array of perfect gems