Lay me down in lay of land I love

Hush now, the hills lean close in, cradling the town in green-field arms. The houses huddle, blinking from night lit rooms, beneath a dawn that warns shepherds of storms, As I lay me down in the lay of land I love. This is the land that knew me, before it had my name, before it lay me down, to sleep in lay of land, to cherish this land that knows me as its own, and what my heart knows that I too own. Come closer now, to hear the waves crash on beach. The sigh of wind in Casuarina trees on sandy shores. The bird songs that lilt at dawn, longingly to the skies. The clatter of kids running off to school. The hustle and bustle of streets getting busy. The hush of dusk called to silence by rise of moon. Listen, as night seeps in to quell the moving streets, As I lay me down in the lay of land I love. My hills are not mountains grand as Everest, The streams are not the Ganges, Amazon or the rest. The fields are not clad in dense tropical forests. But, to me the lay of my land speaks to me. Like no other, as I lay me down to sleep. The lay of the land is steeped in memories that sprawl across the ridges and dales, that are entangled in the roots of trees, with mementos spangled in their limbs. Memories that curl the field to long furrows with soil folded over like wrinkles on brows of old heads, eyes, limbs, lips recalling the past. Even when you leave, you never do, For the lay of land settles deeper into you, the more you shape the lay, the more the lay shapes you.