Little Langdale
Let's flee to Little Langdale,
where mountains pierce the sky
through layers of cloud and fog,
past birds that swarm like flies.
Let's find the quarry tunnels
and tour Cathedral Cave
We'll hear our voices echo
like pebbles skipping waves.
Let's walk the hills till twilight
past crumbling ancient walls.
We'll stroll 'cross Slaters Bridge
and watch the evening fall.
Let's grab a pint or twenty
at the old Three Shires Pub.
We'll drink the finest ale
and feast on English grub.
Let's stumble home together
'neath stars we've never seen.
We'll find our merry way
along the winding stream.
*Last year, my family rented a 16th-century cottage in the Lake District of England. It was surreal to wake up in the mountains every morning.
*See "About This Poem" for links to photos
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