by Marty




Not for me the retaining city walls.

Not for me the brick-built houses,

The concrete streets,

The coffee shops,

The telephone kiosks,

The parks where scraggy birds

Compete against the stones of city kids.


For me the beauty of a summer dawn

Seen 'cross fields of waving corn.

Or sitting by a lake, or lough, or tarn at eventide,

And seeing the last feeble rays

Of the life-giving sun

Reflecting from the water's surface.

And watching a pair of geese,

Or swans, or golden-eagles

Making their homeward journey

On lazy, slow-beating wings.






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