The Fields And Meadows In The Morning
The core of the sun burns orange in the heavens
Dawn shadows form
Sweep across the moorlands
The golden sands of time turn both hands of the clock
A cock crows a sprightly note
His throat dry
But still so clear that mighty cry
Lambs lie sleeping in the meadow
Free from fear of butcher’s knife
The sweeping weeping waterfall so full of life
Tumbles down upon her surface
In a gentle dreamlike pitter patter
The waking breeze does seize and guide the wings Of bumblebees
Who swoop from high and tumble low
Falling graceful from the sky
Trees form canopies beneath the sun
Caterpillars crawl from leaf to leaf
Birds have begun to sing
To bring a little life to this new born morn
Dancing on the wing they dive from brittle twig built nests
And settle down to rest upon the glistening dewy ground
Listening for the sound of prey
All those that lay below the soil
In a graveyard by the church
Shaded by the cover of a towering birch
Lay buried a lover of the moorland meadow
A fellow who used to toil
And care for the trees and flowers
That grew here from the soil
But now the silver birch does care for him
Within the grim twilight shadows of forever sleep
The tree she sweeps each outstretched solid branching limb
And keeps him out of reach from harm
Beneath the shelter of her giant leaf swept arm
Friends wept a thousand tears
But the sands of time have passed so many years
And nothing lasts forever
But the dawn it will return
And our sun will always burn
For even though the tears may fall like rain
New life will still begin again… Begin again… Begin again…
Back