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…