It's early morning, Sun's up high,
The Falcon's hovering in the sky.
On rocky crags the sheep are seen,
On mountain tracks where I have been.
The car's parked up, the door is locked,
On telephone wires the Swifts are flocked.
"Morning", that's the only word,
From passing strangers you have heard.
A "Finger" points, "This is the way",
That sets your course for you today.
On your own you want to be,
So hurry by a crowd you see.
The lush carpet of sheep-cropped grass,
Lies underfoot where you will pass.
The well-worn path it lies ahead,
Pebbles in dried-up river bed.
Skeletal outline of ancient barn,
"Dogs on lead", the sign did warn.
The mossy ranks of limestone walls,
The stile ahead to me it calls.
Amongst the vetch and buttercup,
A Wagtail playing, "catch me up".
The fresh piled hills of Mr Mole,
The gentle mare and lovely foal.
The river's dry, no water there,
To quench the thirst of foal and mare.
The stepping stones no need to use,
Your path ahead you will not lose.
The enticing glimpse of whitewashed inn,
Through trees you spy, it's beckoning.
You're nearly there your thirst to quench,
Soon you'll be there sat on that bench.
With beer you sit and look around,
See every sight, hear every sound.
Three elderly guys (I think they're gay)
"What's your drink?, my turn to pay".
Time to leave; your day has gone,
Retrace your steps, one by one.
The beauty around it is unfurled,
To you, the only person in the world.
