Month: December 2019

The Silent Moorland

the moorland keeps its secrets
closed lipped
even to the sunlight’s kiss
upon the shining face
of yesterday’s storm,
it will not tell
not to the reeds at least
who’ll whisper freely on any breeze,
preferring instead the silent counsel
of long dead birch trees
and the passing clouds.

Hey with a gay and a grinding Oh! (or …. I try to ballad in the old ways)

I read about the miller’s lass
from way on way back when
her fancies ran to lusty beaus
who rode up through the glen

to court her for her countenance
and for flaxen hair
its beauty famed across the burghs
fine as the mountain air

which kissed dew with a gentle breeze
as mornings in the May
and upon those misty morns
her suitors fair and gay

would dare to share a first embrace
beside the singing streams
and once they’d kissed, forevermore
she’d live within their dreams.