Robert Andrew Lyle Poet Rhyme

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

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Andrea Dietrich February 13, 2014 at 3:06 PM You've created a pretty picture of this place! You have a good friend here, Robert, who is letting others know about you. I hope you will get out and meet other poets here! Robert Andrew Lyle February 13, 2014 at 4:01 PM thank you Andrea for your kind words. Yes I am getting about now. many thanks. Andy Lyle