Neath A Country Moon. The moon lights my room, as it were day, The teasing wind will have her way, She draws me out of shallow sleep, The company of ghosts to keep, Her teasing fingers bid me come, So much to see before nights done, And through the yards of sleeping cows, Past horses, sheep and snoring sows, Old stockmen lean on gates and view, The livestock kept by farmers new, She drags me through the farmyard old, Lit by a moon of purest gold, Then down the road towards the lakes, Sleeping on its bank the ducks and drakes, While foxes hide and slyly glance, Before the dawn they’ll have their chance, They are watched in turn by huntsmen past, Who long ago should have blown their last, They’ll stir their packs before the morn, With haunting cry of hunting horn, And lovers who in graves have lain, Pick flowers down this country lane, The Campion and the Cornflower blue, Spirit couples court with love anew, From decades past their love they keep, All this we miss when sound asleep, The wind now blows me further still, Towards the long abandoned mill, The sparkling stream that fuels the wheel, That grinds the wheat and oats to meal, The corn is brought by a team of four, Big Shires that lived many years before, They bring the harvest from the land, And then go before the ploughman’s hand, To turn the stubble from gold to grey, And plough unseen by night and day, This breeze she drives, I have no will, Now up the track towards the hill, This rugged lane where years ago, Legions challenged friend or foe, Towards the meadow entrance, where, The leaning gate waits for repair, Past, where the dark plantation forms, A windbreak from the wicked storms, So ewes and lambs can shelter find, Give sleeping shepherds piece of mind, The wind now drops and bids me still, Atop this wild majestic hill, And looking down its plain to view, Folk from times past with work to do, They tend the stock, they plough and sow, Keepers shoot the rook and carrion crow, Blacksmiths too still ply their trade, By forge and anvil, shoes are made, And all this work is still being done, While mortals wait for rise of sun, This splendid, hilly countryside, Is managed well by those who’ve died, So on this night I’ve learned full well, Life does not end with churchyard bell, We carry on with work and play, And forever keep our country way.
Posted on: Wed, 14 Jan 2015 19:11:04 +0000
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