The Valley

The Valley

Sharp slopes of landscape, stark against sky,
Acres of ochre, blurring my eyes,
And the whispering heather is blowing through my mind,
As I look on the Valley I’m leaving behind.

Yellows and lilacs build layers in the air,
A pale pool of silver-gold spills through a tear,
And falls on the dead grasses, making them shine
as I look on the Valley I’m leaving behind.

A flickering kestrel hangs in the sky,
Ragged-winged ravens tumble and cry,
And five tattered sheep straggle by in a line
As I look on the Valley I’m leaving behind.

It’s been my shelter, it’s been my home,
A place where I can be free,
And now that I’m going, I’m going, I’m leaving here,
I’ll bring my Valley within me.

Tarnished silver and soft, faded green of the gorse,
An amber-pooled stream spills and flows on its course,
And the Winter-bared fuschia waves branches of wine,
As I look on the Valley I’m leaving behind.

It’s been my shelter, it’s been my home,
A place where I can be free,
And now that I’m going, I’m going,  I’m going,
I’m leaving here, leaving here,
I’ll bring my Valley within me.

Comments are closed.