Hills of Home
The heather caresses leather
As across these hills I tread
The boggy ground it squelches
Moving like a water bed
Don’t stop or soon the eyeholes
With bog water they will fill
Put pace in step and move on
A little further up the hill
The summit from cloud appears
A very welcome sight
With sunlight raising vapour
From the cloud wet anthracite
Soon legs can be relieved from load
And eyes take in the view
Retracing path my feet have trod
Past Bracken, Broom and Yew
Then down the hill with faster gait
My eager legs they ply
To take me home to cottage white
Near the fields of Athenry
Copyright © Robert Andrew Lyle | Year Posted 2014
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