On fell, on hill top wide the soft wind blows
Through bracken fronds and boggy grass, while sheep
all white fluff bleat. A cold fast stream o’er flows
past grey rock and from purple ledge does leap.
In winter forest huge, the sun shines bright
all silver on the ice. No sound or shout
disturbs the trees all dark against the white
soft mounded snow. No creature is about.
Among the rocks of castles broken long
and in old stone circle only ghosts
sigh softly through the ages. None belong
there now; when tourist is gone no-one boasts.
In vistas quiet I hear the world around.
In wild vast lonely space my soul is found.
CMJ Jan 2009